


my way back to you

by unraelated



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mystery, Only One Bed, Pining, Plot, Political Intrigue, Post-Canon, Referenced Dimitri/Claude, Slow Burn, Spies, it's about the yearning, mild spoilers for Verdant Wind route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unraelated/pseuds/unraelated
Summary: Ashe, the Kingdom spymaster, receives a threatening message from one of his spies regarding the newly-restored nation of Duscur. His only option is to travel there himself, meet up with Dedue, and try to figure out what's going on.The only problem? Dedue doesn't know he has a spy in Duscur.For AsheDue week: a self-contained side story toThe Warmth of your Doorways- though you don't need to read it to understand what's going on here!
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 48
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place several months after The Warmth Of Your Doorways - which is essentially a joint Verdant Wind/Azure Moon route in which Dimitri and Claude marry after the war. Claude appoints Ashe as Dimitri's spymaster in Fhirdiad, and Dedue becomes the leader of the restored Duscur after Dimitri hangs the Kleiman family for treason. That's all you need to know!

It was difficult sometimes, being a spymaster. Not ‘a’, _the_ spymaster. It was difficult because he was still young, because he was so damnably _short_ , because he still found it hard to give orders and be decisive.

Claude said that he could do this. Claude _believed_ in him, and he didn’t want to let Dimitri down, but… having his own command gave Ashe challenges that he hadn’t anticipated and didn’t quite know how to face.

Like this one: a raven from an agent in Enbarr, detailing the beginnings of an insurrection among Imperial loyalists. Something that could be crushed easily, but taking out the group now only meant that another would rise in their place. Ashe had spent years with books of strategy and tactics - the first few borrowed from Claude, the rest pilfered from various libraries across the country - and he knew a thing or two about groups like these.

He knew that they would rise in whispers and gain a small group of followers, but that the military rule over the Empire was too tight for a handful of commonfolk to do much. He knew that they could not reveal themselves publicly for risk of being tried and executed and so they couldn’t spread their word efficiently.

He knew that leaving groups like these alive was better than extinguishing them and letting another come to take their place; maybe a more powerful one, one that was better at keeping secrets.

But still, it gnawed at him. Was it really the right thing to do, to let their enemies plot right under their noses? Should he not send a group of knights in to round them up?

The noble part of him, the part that idolized romantic stories of chivalry and honor, thought so. The part of him that he’d tried to quash, the part of him that had been nurtured by Claude’s books on trickery and manipulation… well, that part disagreed.

It was not the first time he had such a conflict. It would not be the last.

As he was about to leave the aviary, he heard a ruffle of feathers, the scrabble of claws against stone. The sound was familiar but he wasn’t expecting any further reports and he assumed it would just be another bird coming to roost for the evening.

He looked anyway - one didn’t get to be where he was without being careful, after all - and found the bird with mussed feathers, a small piece of parchment strapped to its leg. Too small to be a full letter, the edges of it torn as if done in a hurry and hastily tied to the creature’s leg.

“Woah,” Ashe murmured, holding a hand out as if to calm the bird, “hang on there, little guy. What have you got for me?”

He reached for the parchment and the bird let out a guttural _caw_ of dissatisfaction when his hand got too close, and it looked as if it might peck at him. This wasn’t one of his birds, clearly ill-trained, and Ashe frowned, reaching into his pocket for a little cheese as a reward.

“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It was only after offering up the treat that the raven allowed him to untie the scrap of parchment from its leg. It was even smaller than he thought at first, and unrolled into a small scrap of paper seemingly hastily ripped from the pages of a book.

The print on the pages was something about shipbuilding, with one side printed with _’applications of cedar on the flexibility of [...] surely then, mahogany would be [...] in order to preserve buoyancy’_ and the other side reading _’the bow of the ship will [...] in presence of cold wea[...] the storm.’_

That was not the part that worried Ashe.

What worried him was the scrawl over the letters, as if the book was all that they could reach to write on in the time it took them. In ink, with large drips of blackness on the pages, someone had scrawled:

_’Ove[...] Duscur. send army’_

He did not recognize the handwriting.

Half of the first word was obstructed in a large dallop of the black ink, which had soaked through the page. Try as he might, he couldn’t read it in the low light of the aviary.

Ashe frowned, pocketing the scrap of paper, and moved down toward his quarters.

-

Ashe lived alone at the palace, which in itself was a far cry from his humble beginnings at the streets. His quarters were not near Dimitri’s, but in a separate wing, above the servants and maids. He’d been given the option to move to something more lavish but found that he liked it there, where he could hear the footsteps of the workers start to leave their rooms before the sun rose in the sky, where he could see them in the halls and wave or move to help them with their heavy loads, where he could listen at his door for the idle sort of chatter that maids loved to partake in.

For a spymaster, no one was a more valuable ally than a servant.

And so, he stayed there. His rooms were small, though not cramped, and full of books, papers, letters, things to write with. He still had his bow and arrows and a few various daggers hanging on display, though he hadn’t needed to use them in quite some time. His bed rested nestled against the wall, beneath the window where often, the first few rays of the morning light would wake him before anything else got the chance to.

Once safely in his room, he went for his desk, brushing off a few other inconsequential letters aside and pulling out the two correspondances he’d gotten when making his trip to the aviary.

The first, predictable. Enbarr and secret gatherings of those who would try to take their Empire back. Without a leader to unite them or crests or relics to use, they were limited in scope. Easy enough to command his spy there to keep tabs on them, join their ranks, and thwart them should they put too many lives in danger.

The second… this was something else altogether.

Ashe pulled the candle closer with one hand, reaching with his other for his reading glass, meant for interpreting particularly old or dusty books. The long and circular piece of glass magnified whatever he held it over, and so he unrolled the next parchment again carefully, and inspected it.

He didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting, but he didn’t know all the writing of his underlings by heart. The words appeared hastily scribbled, each letter running into the next, as if the author hadn’t even bothered to lift the quill in the space between letters. And the ink splotch…

 _Ove_... now under the light, he was fairly certain that the next letter was R, leaving _over-_. The one after that? It could be an L or an I… perhaps even a T, but there was no way to be sure, and no way to see the rest of the writing, as stained as the paper was. He had hoped that with light and amplification, he might be able to read it, but it was useless. Overlook? Oversee?

And then, the most damning part of the letter: _Duscur_.

What could it mean? Since Dimitri’s reign and the subsequent restoration of Duscur, Ashe had thought that all past arguments were quelled. Could the people of Duscur be gathering some kind of force?

And if they _were_ , what for? Ashe tried the most charitable approach and wondered if they could be trying to protect their borders: after all, there were plenty of Faerghus commoners who still bore the sting of being removed from their lands to make way for the Duscur people to reclaim their homeland.

But why would that warrant _send army_?

Duscur was a four days’ ride from the Fhirdiad, and yet… Ashe didn’t think he’d get any new information without going there. He could send a spy, or send a raven to his man who was already stationed there, but something about the letter seemed dire, dire enough that he wanted to see it for his own eyes, put his own personal touch to things.

Besides, if he went as himself, he could greet Dedue and figure out if he knew anything. With a spy, he couldn’t count on having any allies in the Duscur region, as Dedue did not know that he had a man stationed in Duscur.

It left a sick sense in his stomach, as if he was lying to his friend - but then, he was lying to all of them, wasn’t he? He had a man in Fraldarius territory, a woman in the Gautier lands, two in the former holdings of Rowe… he operated in secret, yes, but his friends had to have _some_ idea about his network. It wasn’t like _spymaster_ was a subtle title, after all.

Ashe only had to hope that they understood that his tactics were to protect them, rather than to seek out information that could harm them.

His mind was made up, regardless. Ashe decided not to pen a letter to his spy in Duscur to warn of his arrival, for fear that the scrambled handwriting really did belong to him and that he was in danger somehow.

He _did_ write something quickly to Dimitri - _'I’ve received a concerning message from Duscur. I am investigating - if you do not hear from me in two weeks, gather your forces and contact Dedue.'_

Unfortunately, Dimitri was not in the capitol. Times were fraught in Almyra at the moment with some small struggle for power, and so Dimitri had left to be with Claude there. Still, the letter would reach him in a few days.

With that, he made his way to the aviary once more to send the message, using a bird that knew its way to the Almyran palace, and packed quickly for his departure.

He would not need much.

It was late. He could wait to depart the next morning, but then he’d risk being seen, and Ashe knew how to make the shadows his friend. He drew his dark cloak around his shoulders - indistinguishable from the cloaks many commoners used, with nothing to imply that he was a knight and a member of the King’s inner circle - and vanished into the evening.

-

Ashe’s arrival in Duscur was without fanfare or forewarning. He hadn’t sent messengers ahead for fear of them being intercepted or found by the wrong people. The King’s spymaster came and went as he pleased, and no one would find it suspicious if he were absent for a few days.

And so, he arrived in Duscur on his horse - a gentle spotted gray strider - and moved toward the town of Cadon.

Cadon was, more or less, the capitol in Duscur: its trades specialized in the rich minerals mined from the nearby caverns and sold at high prices to jewelers and nobles alike. The wealth of precious stones to be found near Cadon enabled the town to be one of the more prosperous Duscur territories and its centralized location to the other towns made it as good a place as any to gather leadership.

Ashe’s spy was north of here, in the town of Batüm: a smaller coastal town, which primarily earned its keep through the local fishing community and it's port for trade routes. Batüm was his main goal, but to get there, he had to go through Cadon, which was where he would be able to rest and resupply for the rest of his journey.

It was also where Dedue lived.

Ashe longed to visit him, to see a familiar face in all of this confusion. He knew that whatever the haphazard message was, it could not mean that Dedue would betray them. Dedue was the most loyal man he knew and he loved Dimitri as one would love a brother.

He deserved to know if something was happening, particularly something that threatened Duscur. With any luck, the two of them could figure out the strange meaning of the message together and deal with whatever problem it was trying to warn them about.

The town of Cadon was still in its infancy, though it had been some years since Dimitri’s decree allowed the people of Duscur to begin to rebuild. The infrastructure was there, being slowly built back up after the former Kleimen commoners dismantled much of the roadways and irrigation systems to build their own cities during the occupation after the Tragedy.

Moving through the streets, Ashe could see now the work that had been done, but for every repaved roadway there was a building that still had singe marks from the flames that once blazed through the streets.

The lesser side roads had not been paved at all, but were well-worn from foot traffic and the wheels of pulled carts. Some of the roads were too narrow for Ashe to fit astride his horse and he took care to navigate carefully, staying on the main trail until he finally saw an inn up ahead.

He took his horse out behind and dismounted, leading his steed up to the stablemaster, who sized him up with a curious expression.

“...you one a’ Kleiman’s men?”

Ashe shook his head.

The stablemaster was an older man, looking in his late forties. His white hair and darker complexion marked him as one of the Duscur people; the scars on his face and arms marked him as a survivor of the Tragedy.

“Why do you ask?” Ashe inquired, leaning back a little to get a better look at him. It _was_ a strange question: Kleiman had been executed by Dimitri years prior, and while there were factions of dissatisfied commoners of Faerghus who felt entitled to this land, they weren’t _associated_ with the Kleiman name.

The name should scarcely be uttered anywhere. Dimitri made sure of that.

The stablemaster shrugged, looking over Ashe’s horse.

“We don’t get many visitors from the Kingdom here. Too deep in the territory for a ‘just passing through’. Thought you might be one of those bastards scoping out our land for yourself.”

The response created more questions than it answered. Ashe wanted to ask more, to clarify - well, any of it - but the stablemaster was already going over to his horse, sizing the beast up and continuing.

“It’ll be ten gold to stable her for the night. Twelve for the next day if you’re not outta here by lunch. That’s plus the stay at the inn.”

Ashe nodded, deciding not to push the issue - for now, anyway. Being too inquisitive would look suspicious. If he’d learned anything, it was to make friends first, and _then_ ask questions.

Besides, he still wanted to see Dedue.

“I agree to those terms. I’ll pay with the innkeeper?”

The stablemaster nodded, and Ashe offered him the reins, which he took readily. The man gave him the time to get his small bag from the saddle, before leading Ashe’s horse off to be penned for the night.

The innkeeper was a chattier young man, also of Duscur, though his hair was dark and pulled back into a ponytail, where it swept behind his shoulders and down to the base of his spine.

“I’ve been told you’ve got a horse with us?” he asked, though the question seemed rhetorical at best, “good, good - well, for a night’s stay here is sixteen, plus the horse is twenty-six… if you want a meal brought up to you, that’s another seven, so… thirty-three? Half now and half at checkout, alright?”

Ashe flashed a smile and nodded, reaching into his smaller coin purse for the appropriate amount of money.

“What’s the meal for tonight?”

“It’s a duck stew, one of our cook’s best.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll take you up on that.” And then, as he set the money down on the counter, he tilted his head, “do you guys get a lot of visitors here?”

There was a pause. The innkeeper pursed his lips as he counted out the coins, slipping them into his own bag before shrugging and leaning forward with his elbows on the countertop. “Not really. There were a lot more when we were establishing trade routes with Faerghus, treaties, that sort of thing. Now it’s mostly just traders.”

“Your stablemaster… he said - something about Kleiman?” Ashe asked innocently, tilting his head, “I thought he was dead?”

The innkeeper’s pleasant expression darkened like a storm and Ashe thought that he’d gone too far. _Kleiman_ might as well have been a curse in Duscur - he should have known better than to repeat it.

“We get a few of them passing through,” he said, his mouth twisted like he’d just bitten into something sour, “the king cut off the bloom, but the plant is still alive, twisting like vines under our nation and yours. Most of them like to tumble in here and stir up trouble: start fights, steal from us, that kind of thing. They think this land belongs to them.”

Ashe nodded solemnly, his mind racing. Could that be what the letter was about? Maybe he was supposed to oversee something in Duscur? Maybe send an army to root out the last of this vile family’s influence?

Duscur had no army. Her people could _fight_ , as they’d learned to do over the last decade or so, but no organized corps to band together and protect their interests. At best, each town had something of a militia, but funding had gone more toward rebuilding and reestablishing trade than to bolster their military - an unpopular decision at the time, but one that had served the nation well nevertheless.

It had been Dedue’s decision, Ashe remembered. Dedue’s leadership.

“You think - it’s lead by someone in that family?” he asked, his voice soft, “I thought that the King had banished them all?”

The innkeep shook his head, his lips pursed.

“They _were_ banished for awhile. Left the country. I think some of them even went underground… but one lady came back. Younger sister or married wife - I can never remember which. She gathered a bunch of thugs who were angry about your king’s decree and has been causing trouble ever since.”

Ashe didn’t ask about why they hadn’t reported it to Faerghus or asked for help. It didn’t seem like the kind of solution anyone would have been happy with, but the idea that this had been happening right under their noses made his blood boil.

“...right.” And then, changing the subject, “I know Dedue Molinaro lives in this town. Do you know if he’s around? I’m an old friend from the war, and I’d very much like to see him.”

“You’re _what_?” Immediately, Ashe thought that he’d been too forward. This was bound to attract attention. “You fought with Dedue? Are you one of the knights?”

Even as he lied, Ashe felt guilty, but he shook his head anyway, offering a wobbly smile. “Just in a batallion, I’m afraid. But I knew Dedue pretty well.”

“Right, right, well - as far as I know, he’s around. I think there’s a few meetings he’s doing; we’ve got a trader staying here who has business with him. I’ll show you to the town hall where he’ll be in the morning.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Ashe said with his best smile. He hefted his bag higher onto his shoulder and took a step back. “Now, um - my room?”

-

In the morning light, Cadon was a beautiful town. Colorful banners - one for each family, unique to that family’s surname - were hung each morning from the doorframes and taken down each night to be dusted and cleaned. Ashe watched them all flutter in the wind with a muted curiosity as the innkeeper took him to the town hall.

This was beautiful as well. The structure stood proud, despite weathering some remaining damage from the previous skirmishes. Ashe could see where the stone was repaired, painted over, where modifications had been made to the steps and railings, which were likely once wooden and burned away. Somehow the modifications gave the building character, made it seem ever-more resilient.

When he first laid eyes on Dedue, Ashe thought the same of his scars.

His hair had grown since Ashe last saw him, still shaved on the sides, but with the rest tied up behind his head in an elegant bun. Modest signs of age were starting to bleed through around his face: his jaw was squarer, his throat fuller, his eyes with the faintest beginnings of crows feet.

Upon seeing him, Ashe forgot everything he was supposed to say.

Dedue didn’t notice him at first. He was talking to one other other men in the town hall, a lavish looking trader, dressed in the colorful robes of Dagda, whose words came with dramatic swoops of his hands. He was the sort of man who commanded most of the attention in the room and Ashe, as one who always shied away from that sort of attention, found himself fading back out of view.

“You wanted to talk to him, right? He’s right there,” the innkeeper offered helpfully, waving his arm in Dedue’s direction. “Good morning, sir! You’ve got a visitor!”

The call distracted Dedue from his conversation and he turned his gaze and Ashe saw his soft eyes for the first time since - since -

\- it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Dedue saw the innkeeper before Ashe and his expression split into a gentle smile that could melt the heart of the strongest warrior alive.

“Senca, well met. A visitor…?”

It was supposed to be a question, phrased like one, but the last syllable cut short when he saw Ashe, shrunken and unassuming in the shadow of the other personalities in the room.

Dedue’s smile faded, but not due to sadness or unease - rather, surprise, and before Ashe could apologize for his lack of warning for his arrival, Dedue’s expression bloomed again. If possible, this smile was more brilliant than the last, one of unbridled joy and affection, and as he took a step toward the two of them, Ashe felt so elated that he didn’t know why he waited so long to visit.

He wanted… so much. There were walls around his heart still, shrouded in layers of apprehension and loneliness, but Dedue was there. Dedue was _real_ , and he didn’t look upset to see him at all.

“Ashe,” Dedue finally said when he was closer, and he lifted a hand as if to touch him but thought better of it, lowering it again and standing awkwardly before him, “I wasn’t expecting you. I would have… prepared something for your arrival.”

Ashe shook his head, bashful all of a sudden, and Senca seemed to understand that this was more of a private conversation because he edged his way away from the two of them with a knowing smirk.

“I -“

Right. The reason he was here. The letter. The strange reports of Kleiman’s men. Ashe swallowed thickly and tried to push everything else from his mind, but it was too difficult when Dedue was standing _this_ close to him.

“- I’m sorry for not sending a message beforehand. In truth…” There was a pause - Ashe glanced toward the trader, found him to be out of earshot, and lowered his voice, “...in truth, no one knows I came. I need to keep it that way.”

The light slowly filtered out of Dedue’s eyes and Ashe hated to see it go. It felt like a betrayal somehow, to come here after all this time and have it be because of _this_ \- but what else was he supposed to do? He was the king’s spymaster, Dedue was the lord of another land.

“I see.”

Dedue followed suit, lowering his voice, “you should… come to my office. We can talk there.”

Ashe nodded and Dedue turned to greet his trader again, offering him a goodbye. The man seemed to understand - or their conversation was close to ending anyway - because he nodded and took his leave.

Dedue motioned for one of the branching staircases after he was gone and Ashe followed him, trying to keep his distance, to not be caught staring at him, to not remember -

The stairs were spiraled and tricky and Ashe turned his thoughts around in his head as he climbed behind Dedue. There was too much to think about, too much work to do, though he wished there wasn’t. He wished he’d made a social call at any point in the ages since they’d seen one another last.

But with his work - with _their_ work, could anyone blame them?

Dedue’s office was sparsely decorated, though it suited him even so. What decorations _were_ there - a few potted plants on the windowsill to soak up the sunlight, a scarf on his bookshelf, a few small tools on his desk - suited him and made the room warm and inviting, despite the stiffness of the chairs.

Ashe didn’t sit and Dedue didn’t ask him to. They were alone.

“Now…” Dedue started, moving for his window so that he could look over the street below. He didn’t look at Ashe, and Ashe tried to stifle his feelings about it. “...why can no one know that you’re here?”

“I… I think there might be something going on at or around Duscur,” Ashe offered, his voice going high with his nerves like it used to when he was a child. He cleared his throat and tried again when Dedue didn’t immediately respond. “I talked to the innkeeper - Senca - and his stablemaster. They both think that someone under Kingdom jurisdiction is causing trouble in Duscur. If that’s true, then…”

“We’ve been handling it,” Dedue said, his voice heavy. It sounded like too much of a reprimand and when Ashe flinched backward, Dedue’s voice went a little softer. “...surely you understand. Dimitri is my closest friend but he cannot fight my battles for me, no matter how badly he wants to. No land will respect Duscur if we go whimpering to the King of Fódlan every time we have a problem.”

“Even if that problem comes from Fódlan?” Ashe asked, finding his courage, challenging.

Dedue looked away from the window toward him, his expression contemplative.

“...what do you know?”

Ashe shrunk back, his bravery ebbing from him in the onslaught of Dedue’s full and weighty attention. Dedue knew what he was, what role he occupied at Dimitri’s table. He surely could assume that Ashe was keyed in to all sorts of information across their lands, so it would be reasonable to assume that Ashe was here on spymaster business.

But _having_ spies in Duscur?

He did. Dedue didn’t know. Ashe wasn’t sure how to get to the next part without overplaying his hand, especially to someone as deceptively intelligent as Dedue, someone who’s respect he desired, someone who already had to balance the world’s mistrust of him.

Ashe swallowed hard and thought about Claude’s advice: _sometimes a smaller truth makes the lie taste better_.

“I… got a frightening letter. I don’t know where it came from, only that it implicated Duscur.”

Dedue was quiet as Ashe reached into the small bag on his thigh to retrieve the scrap of paper, carefully preserved in a small wooden box. He opened the box, moving for Dedue’s desk as he did so, and carefully splayed the paper open on it so that Dedue could look for himself.

He did. The larger man took a curious step closer, head tilting as he read the few scattered words, his mouth downturned in a frown.

“You came all the way to Duscur for this?”

Ashe bit his lip. “I didn’t know what it meant - it could have been serious. I wanted to make sure that you…” that he what? That he was alright? That he wouldn’t be hurt? Ashe bit his lip and rephrased. “I wanted to find out what was going on and offer my aid if I could.”

Dedue was silent for a long moment, considering the offer as he picked up the parchment and turned it around in his hands. Ashe had never known him to be particularly prideful, but he knew that running a nation like Duscur required a certain amount of it - at least outwardly. Dedue could not afford to accept excessive help from others; what he had, he had built for himself and for his people.

And then, there was the fact that he might simply want to deal with this himself. There was a nonzero possibility that Dedue already knew what this letter was referring to and preferred to keep it out of Ashe’s ears. Ashe wouldn’t begrudge him for that, but the thought of it - Dedue operating separately from him, with so much of his life in secrecy… it saddened him.

 _Look who’s talking_. Ashe bit back a grimace at the thought, considering what _he_ did.

Finally Dedue spoke, his tone even and measured in the way that Ashe had come to expect from him.

“The book this is torn from is a seafaring book. Probably from a library, of which we have several throughout Duscur. We have two libraries in coastal cities where one of these books might be common, but only one which has a trade route for gallnuts.”

Ashe blinked in surprise at the sudden information, taking a short step closer to look at the paper in Dedue’s hand. “...gallnuts?”

“Mm.” Dedue nodded, flipping the paper over. “They’re used to make some types of ink. Whoever wrote this wasn’t accustomed to it… it’s thicker, easier to splotch. Like.. well, this.”

Not for the first time, Ashe found himself in awe of the amount of knowledge of the world that one must have to be in a leadership role like this. Dedue has doublessly had to negotiate for his trade routes and had to know everything about what a budding nation like Duscur would need, down to the types of ink imported.

He wondered if Dimitri had to learn the same sort of thing. He felt, not for the first time, wholly unequipped to be working with such men. They clearly saw something in him or he would not be here, but when Dedue had more or less solved his mystery for him, he felt superfluous.

At least this was reassuring in some way: that he’d brought it to the right place.

“It’s in Batüm,” Dedue offered after Ashe remained silent. He handed the paper back to him, his mouth in a slight frown, “the library.”

Batüm. That was where his spy had been stationed. Ashe knew immediately that the letter had to come from him. He didn’t know his spy in Duscur well - Del was younger, a more recent appointment, with his mother from Duscur and his father from… somewhere overseas. His family was one of those who did not return to Duscur for the rebuilding, but instead chose to continue serving the king. Del fit into his assignment reasonably well, and knew enough of the culture and accent to get by in Batüm without undue suspicion.

His reports, Ashe remembered, were always very scant. Ashe had assumed that there was never much to say. Maybe that was why he didn’t recognize the handwriting.

“I’ll go there, then,” Ashe finally said, solidifying his plan. Dedue nodded and watched as Ashe slipped the parchment back away.

“It’s a day’s ride. I’ll go with you.”

Of course. This seemed to be serious - why would Dedue not want to go? Any responsibilities could be put on hold for a day or two, but… if Dedue found out about his spy…

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

A small smile graced Dedue’s face, more amusement than pleasure.

“The people on the road and in Batüm will be a little more receptive to me than you. Plus… it’s like I said, I want to fight my own battles. If you turned and left for Fhirdiad now, I would still go to Batüm, but I have a feeling that there’s a reason you want to go.”

Ashe could not fight the sudden heat that rose to his cheeks and he nodded mutely, looking at Dedue through his lashes. Of course he would have some sort of idea. Dedue had proven to be nothing if not intelligent and reasonable, and Ashe had always been a terrible liar.

But… he couldn’t say he minded. This trip, however short, however potentially dangerous, would be shared by the two of them. _A day’s ride_ meant a day in Dedue’s company on the way there and the way back, whatever that entailed.

He couldn’t say no.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe and Dedue follow a lead and things get more complicated.

The two of them left their separate ways to gather their things and prepare for the short journey ahead of them. Senca brightened when he saw Ashe during checkout and leaned forward, his elbows on the counter. His hair swept past his shoulders, draping over the wood he was leaning on.

“Hey! You told me you knew our lord, but you didn’t tell me you knew him like _that_.”

Ashe blinked, his hand stilling as he reached for his coin purse to pay the rest of his debt.

“I… what are you talking about?”

Senca laughed, tossing his hair back. “Don’t give me that. I saw the way he stopped everything when he saw you. And you! You froze like a rabbit. You’ve been together, haven’t you?”

The coin purse fell out from between Ashe’s fingers, slapping to the floor and sending brightly colored pieces rolling in several directions. Ashe was pleased for the distraction and knelt down to gather up his money. It also meant that Senca couldn’t see how darkly he was blushing in the moment.

“No, of course not.” His mouth felt dry as he scraped his hand along the floor to gather the last of the gold pieces. “We - we were friends. We used to do cooking and gardening together.”

“And that’s all?” Came Senca’s voice from above him, where the wiry man was leaning so far over the countertop that he could look down on Ashe from the other side. “Cooking and gardening doesn’t make a man look like that. Only the visceral pleasures - or the thought of doing them.”

“Sixteen!” Ashe cried out from the ground, with a fistful of dirt and coins, “you wanted sixteen gold for the other half, right?”

Senca laughed his light laugh, leaning back. “Thirteen if you tell me what happened. We thought our lord was never going to settle down - now I guess we know why.”

Slowly, Ashe moved to standing, red faced and with a handful of coins and slapped them on the countertop.

“H-how about twenty to end this conversation?” There was a pause and he stumbled backward, fumbling to get his coin purse back in his bag. He lacked the authoritative tone that he wished he had, and Senca only grinned wider as he counted the coins, tongue in cheek as requested.

Ashe nodded once, gathering what little of his dignity he had left.

“I’ll get my horse.”

-

The journey was not a difficult one. This was a road that traders used often and was well-traveled. True to Dedue’s word, when they encountered other travelers on the road, they often gave Ashe an inquisitive look before nodding at Dedue as they passed one another.

It was difficult to carry on a long conversation on horseback, especially about something as sensitive as their current objective. Dedue asked how things were back in Fhirdiad (it was fine), Ashe asked how things were in Duscur (it was fine), and neither of them spoke about what was really on their minds.

Senca’s words ate at him. It wasn’t that they’d done - _that_ , it wasn’t anything of the sort, really. He didn’t expect an onlooker to understand, especially when he didn’t quite get it himself.

But it was different with Dedue. It always had been. With the smaller, more inconsequential crushes of his youth, Ashe was able to get over himself and look at the situation rationally: she was a nobleman’s daughter, he wasn’t interested in men, that sort of thing. But this…

This was a candle that could not be extinguished, and even moreso because he knew that - at one point, for one miraculous handful of minutes - Dedue had felt the same.

This strong, intelligent, capable, loyal leader of men had felt the same. It made Ashe feel _worthy_ somehow, made him feel like more than he was. But Dedue... Dedue had to lead Duscur, which meant renouncing his conflicts of interest and therefore his place in Fhirdiad. His visits were few and far between. His letters were mostly addressed to Dimitri.

If it was going to happen, it would have happened years ago.

Ashe pushed it from his mind before the thoughts could lead him to a darker path, and instead he glanced toward Dedue, astride his magnificent tan horse.

“Hey - I’m sorry it’s been so long. I should have visited, but… you know, with everything that’s going on…”

Dedue looked back toward him, catching the thread of the conversation.

“I had hoped I would see you more often. I understand, though. With Dimitri spending half his time in Almyra, he needs a strong network in Fhirdiad. I don’t begrudge you for not visiting.”

If anything, the truth just made him feel worse. Ashe looked down to where he was clutching the reins, his lips pursed.

“I wanted to come. I was just…”

Scared? Afraid that Dedue wouldn’t feel the same anymore, that Dedue would come to his senses as Ashe should have done years ago? Afraid that he _did_ still feel the same way and that Ashe would have to tell him that it wouldn’t work?

“...just what?” Dedue asked, his voice soft, barely audible across the path.

Ashe shook his head, burying the lump in his throat back down.

“- busy. Now that there’s a prince and princess, it seems like there’s twice as much to do just to make sure that they’re safe.”

The mention of Dimitri’s adopted children made Dedue smile, the expression gentle yet… almost sad, in a way.

“What do you do?” he asked, curious. Ashe was fairly certain that Dedue didn’t care much about his routine, but rather, he wanted to have some small insight into the life he left behind - the life he _could_ have had, in Fhirdiad as a godfather to Dimitri’s children.

Dimitri had offered, despite the barriers between them, but Dedue could not accept. Even Ashe knew that it would have caused too much political turmoil.

Ashe shrugged, looking down at the road below them.

“I’m always keeping an ear out for anyone who might claim to be from one of their biological families. If someone pops up - and they do - I investigate. I vet their tutors, their arms trainers, the breeders of their horses, to make sure that no one has ill will toward them.”

“You protect them.”

“Not - !” Ashe flushed at the flattery, shaking his head, “not like the kings do. I just do what I can. The kids, they’re commonborn, and some of the nobility are resentful of that. They’d do terrible things out of spite.”

Dedue’s smile went soft, affectionate, crinkling at his eyes as he looked back toward Ashe.

“You protect them,” he said again, “given that, I can forgive you for not visiting me more often.”

It was true that Ashe felt some sort of kinship with them. While Lord Lonato hadn’t been a _king_ , Ashe was still adopted into nobility himself and knew a thing or two of the struggles that the children would go through. Still, he couldn’t imagine a more loving environment for them to grow up in, and until they could learn to fight their own battles, Ashe saw no harm in protecting them from the evils of the world in the ways that he wished he was protected.

Dedue seemed to understand this - no, Dedue _did_ understand, Ashe could tell from the simple way he looked at him, warm and acknowledging, like he trusted him above everyone else to do this.

“I’d like to,” Ashe offered, “visit. More often, I mean.”

“I’d like that too.”

During their conversation, the city of Batüm rose over the horizon as they drew nearer. There were no guards at the gate, only a watchman, who took one look at Dedue and ushered them through.

The city was less developed than Cadon, having been built from scratch rather than rebuilt from the ashes of a charred city. It was indeed a small fishing town, with cottages lined up along the ocean, overlooking various piers and fishing boats lashed to them. Near the center of the city there was a larger dock, one that served to usher in traders from overseas. It connected into the heart of the city center, which had a flourishing and colorful market.

“I’ll show you to the inn,” Dedue offered. “I have a room here in the town hall - I’ll be staying there for the evening.”

Ashe nodded, sheltering his disappointment that they could not spend more time together, but he knew that this wasn’t a social visit. Dedue would likely need to meet with others here and discuss what was going on, and Ashe needed to prepare however he could. It made sense that they would separate here.

It didn’t stop him from wishing it was any other way.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll need to discuss something with the leaders here in the morning - we can meet at the library in the afternoon.” There was a pause and Dedue looked to the dying light of the evening sky. “...tomorrow is Friday. There will be an outdoor market here. You should visit, enjoy yourself.”

Ashe blinked, hesitating. That wasn’t really what he was here to do, but if he had no other choice than to wait for Dedue… well, he needed to meet up with his spy stationed here and he couldn’t do that in Dedue’s presence. Tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity for it and so he eventually nodded, offering up a thin smile.

“Sounds exciting. I’ll look into it.”

Dedue hummed in response, turning back to the building before him and dismounting from his horse in one fluid movement which made his bicep shift and the muscle of his thigh flex with holding his weight. Ashe tried not to stare, but how could he not?

He made sure he was looking away by the time Dedue looked back up at him.

“This is the inn. I’ll be sure to get you a good room.”

-

Ashe didn't know where his spy, Del, lived, but he knew that he was employed on the docks, where he could monitor the comings and goings of the various supplies and equipment sent along the Duscur trade route and ensure that nothing dishonorable happened with the trade agreements.

He went there the next morning, taking effort not to attract attention - an effort that mostly went to waste, considering how sharply he stood out among the locale anyway. Still, Ashe turned up his hood, wore simple, unmarked clothing, and took ways that seemed to be less traveled.

When he found Del's workplace, he clung to the shadows, watching as the various muscular men and women unloaded boxes from the ships which arrived in the port. Fish, furs, and other goods made their way onto the loading docks while spices and small satchels of gemstones were loaded back onto the boats in turn.

Ashe didn't ask anyone for his spy. There was no need for putting either of them under scrutiny by attracting any attention to himself or to Del. So he watched, his eyes sharp as he searched each face in the dock.

There was no sign of him.

He spent a few hours there, walking from one end of the docks to the other, his concern growing as he searched. In the end he left, his caution back in full swing as the reality of the situation set in once more. 

It was possible Del wasn’t working that day, but Ashe was beginning to doubt it. By then, he was sure that the scrap of paper was sent from his spy, that something was happening, but he couldn’t put all the pieces together.

Ashe met Dedue like this: troubled, stormy, his mouth twisted down into a small frown.

Dedue didn’t seem to be bright and sunny either. He waved at Ashe in greeting and made his way toward him, his scarf pulled tight around his throat to protect him from the biting winds that rolled in from the coast.

“Did you enjoy the market?” he asked, forcing some form of levity in his tone, but Ashe shook his head, not wanting to lie to him.

“I didn’t make it there. I wish I could have - it sounded lovely.”

Dedue nodded and didn’t speak again. He also didn’t move to go inside the library right away, instead reaching down to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, contemplative, his bright eyes on Ashe as if evaluating him for something.

Ashe didn’t know what was on his mind. He felt slimy, not telling Dedue about his spy in Duscur. He felt even worse that he didn’t know where his spy was, that all signs pointed to the fact that he was in trouble. And then there was…

“...the attacks have grown in number,” Dedue told him finally, something that sounded like defeat, “citizens are starting to go missing. Officials. Those in power. It’s being kept a secret for now to avoid panic or retaliation, but we won’t be able to hide it for long.”

There was a pause, before Ashe realized the significance of this - not _what_ Dedue was saying, but that he was saying anything at all. Ashe knew that he preferred to solve his own problems, but by confiding in Ashe, he brought him into the fold, assured him that this was _their_ problem, not his alone.

It felt… reassuring, to be included. To know that Dedue still trusted him.

“You still think it’s the Kleiman family?” he asked, his voice soft.

Dedue nodded. “Moreso now than ever, but… they have more resources than we initially thought.”

“The same displaced farmers and sympathetic nobles?” Ashe wondered, tilting his head.

“No. Farmers don’t have the ability to steal people out of locked rooms in the middle of a city without a single cry being heard.”

A deep sense of foreboding buried itself in Ashe’s stomach, burrowing into him and nesting behind his ribs. It was the kind of feeling that he’d been staving off until now, the kind of feeling that he was dreading, and the kind of feeling that he knew Dedue must have felt too, to confide in Ashe for help.

It hovered between them like death, the acknowledgement of what this could mean, of what their enemies could _do_. If this wasn’t a group of angry villagers, then it was something more sinister, something which could feed off of their discontent and use it for a greater destruction than either of them had feared.

_Ove [...] Duscur._

_Send army_.

Did Del know? Did he find out about it somehow, try to warn Ashe? Was he also made to disappear?

“...we should tell Dimitri,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. Dedue’s mouth tightened and Ashe shook his head at the refusal that he knew was coming, stepping forward and touching his wrist, as if to urge him. “Please. I know you want this to be done your way and I respect that, but Duscur doesn’t have an army yet. It’s in your treaties - _’should Duscur require military assistance then the Kingdom of Faerghus will provide the necessary forces, as decided between the king and -’_ ”

“-I’m aware of what the treaty says,” Dedue said gruffly, a tad too sharp, but he didn’t pull his wrist away, “I helped write it.”

Ashe’s heart sank into that black pit in his stomach and it took everything in him not to look away.

“I understand your position. I just… I want you to be safe. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, not if I could have stopped it.”

It felt like too deep of an admission, carved out from his flesh. Ashe _did_ look away then, let his hand drop from Dedue’s sleeve, and felt altogether too cold in the late afternoon.

Dedue raised his hand, slowly as if he was afraid that Ashe would flinch away if he moved too fast. His fingers brushed at Ashe’s hair, gingerly tucking back the fringe of his bangs so he could look at him, mollified by Ashe’s words, his mouth soft.

Ashe closed his eyes. It was too much, the warmth of Dedue’s skin on his own bringing him back to that night ages ago, that moment when he thought that Dedue could have been _his_. It ached in his throat, gave him a bittersweet longing that he could not begin to describe, hurt him until he could do nothing but pull back, feeling suddenly as if his heart was made of glass and any further battering to it would shatter it entirely.

Dedue’s hand dropped. Ashe tried to feel guilty but he couldn’t, not on top of everything else he was already feeling.

“...you’re working with me now,” Dedue finally said, turning back toward the library, “I trust you.”

He wanted to stop this. He wanted to ask Dedue about that night, ask him if he still felt the way he did back then - he wanted to turn and take Dedue far away from here, ride off into an unfamiliar land where nobody knew their names and their only responsibilities were to one another.

But they wouldn’t be happy like that, not with the knowledge of what they’d turned their backs on. And so, with a sigh, Ashe followed Dedue into the large building, each footstep feeling heavier than the last.

The library was large and dark, with little lamplight to prevent any accidental fires. There was only a small handful of people inside of it, few enough that they could easily have a private conversation anywhere they chose. It seemed larger on the inside, with cavernous halls lined with bookshelves and smelled predictably, of dust and paper.

“I believe the seafaring section is this way,” Dedue offered, leading Ashe to one of the more secluded halls, where there were few around who would bother either of them. 

Once in the correct section, Ashe peered through the shelves of books, quietly curious as to what might be in them. The titles were all fairly standard: _A Novice Guide To Navigation_ , _Chronicles of the Dagdan Sea_ , and other such things. The books were dusty, as if they haven’t been unsettled in awhile, and Ashe traced his fingers along the spines in thought.

If the torn message came from a book then the book likely came from here. Which meant that - what, they find the book and see if there were any further clues within? Perhaps see if someone had borrowed it recently?

Ashe frowned and began to pull out any book that might include the cut-off passage from the message, setting them down on the nearby table where he then paged through each of them, looking for any page that might be torn. After seeing what he was doing, Dedue moved to help, placing the books back on the shelf when they were done with them so that they did not disturb too much in the library.

They moved through the shelves quickly and quietly, without much conversation. It was a small space, the hall between the shelves narrow enough that they bumped elbows every once in awhile, but Ashe was always quick to try and move out of Dedue’s way when necessary.

The two of them became engrossed in their task, so much so that neither of them noticed the thin, willowy figure that paused at the end of their shelves.

“...can I help you?” a voice asked softly.

Ashe jumped, turning quickly to see an older woman, wearing long robes with the waist tied by a silver cord. Her hair was white, cascading down her shoulders, her hands and face withered with age.

“Apologies if we unsettled anything,” Dedue said, recovering quicker than Ashe had, “we were just looking through some of these books.”

“Mm,” she said, not much of a response, and ventured closer. Ashe was hit by the powerful scent of incense as she passed by him to tidy up the shelf which Dedue had been replacing their books on. “For all that this is a port town, we don’t get many people in this section.”

Ashe didn’t ask her to clarify, not right away - he was trying to think of a way to phrase the question that wouldn’t seem suspicious to Dedue, but Dedue had no such compunction and was able to react quickly.

“Anyone out of the ordinary lately?” he asked, helping her to tidy the books on a shelf slightly out of her reach. The sight of it would have warmed Ashe’s heart, had he not been concerned about what she would say and where it would lead them.

She paused to consider, her eyes glancing back toward Ashe with a sharpness that he did not quite anticipate from a woman of her age. After a moment, the librarian answered:

“No one aside from the usual… but it is _un_ usual that Del hasn’t returned the ones he borrowed from here.”

Ashe’s heart sank. Dedue didn’t seem to notice.

“Del?”

“Oh yes - he’s a lovely boy. Comes in here often, learning everything he can. He checks out books every three days, brings them back… takes very good care of them. Last time he was here, he borrowed a few from this shelf.” There was a pause as she pursed her lips, considering, “I only came by because I heard someone here and I thought you were him. He’s been overdue for… maybe two days now? Not like him.”

Ashe could feel Dedue trying to catch his eye, but he didn’t allow it, instead looking to the ground as he tried to think of a way out of this. The confirmation that the one who sent the message _was_ in fact his spy was… predictable, but still played into his worst fears: that the intersection of his job in Faerghus and his affection for Dedue was coming and that it would be messy when it arrived.

Still, there was no choice except to follow this thread and see where it ended. As much as he was worried about what Dedue would think of him when he found out, he was also concerned for the man in his employ - if Del truly _was_ missing, along with all the others, it didn’t bode well at all.

“...do you know where he lives?” Ashe finally asked, finding his voice. Del’s house would certainly have some clues for them, if not the man himself.

She nodded, the motion based more in her neck than her chin, making it seem almost reptilian.

“He walks me home sometimes when it gets too dark. Always points out his little house on the way. He’s not far off, just down the road a little… it’s the house with the empty nameplate on the gate. I don’t think you can miss it, but - I can show you…?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ashe offered, shaking his head, “I’m sure you have a better use for your time. We can clean up here and be on our way.”

The librarian hummed again before turning to go, wishing them luck in finding who they were looking for. If there was anything suspicious about what they had been asking her for, she didn’t seem to mind - she was likely too old to worry herself over the affairs of men like them.

Ashe could feel his secrets on the edge of his lips as they finished putting the books away, longing to spill out and tell Dedue who Del was, what he was doing here, longing to ask his forgiveness and say it was necessary - but he didn’t. If there was still a way out of this that didn’t involve Dedue finding out about Ashe’s betrayal of his trust, then he wanted to find it.

All he cared about was Dedue’s safety - and the safety of their people, of course. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. All he did, every underhanded tactic or plan, was to protect innocent people, and yet, it still left an awful taste in his mouth. He hated it, what he had to do, but he was _good_ at it - good enough that Claude trusted him with this.

What else could he do?

The streets were empty when they moved back outside, the fading light of the early evening beckoning them into the shadows and away from the street. Ashe followed Dedue down to the cobblestone road and then down the lane that the librarian had indicated.

It was a residential area, he noted, with more dwellings than businesses, though the occasional popup storefront was visible with merchants out front to try and tempt them closer to smell their candles, try their hair oils, or admire their artworks.

The two of them ignored the merchants and kept walking until they came across the house that the librarian had described. It was difficult to miss - while it would have normally blended in with the other houses, something just felt _odd_ about this one, from the lack of the nameplate to the wilted flowers out front. Ashe glanced toward Dedue, biting his lower lip, before they pushed their way through the gate and up to the front door.

Dedue knocked first, his knuckles loud and booming on the door. There was no light inside, and none of the outdoor lanterns were lit, shrouding them in a soft shadow that grew darker as the sun descended. When Ashe turned to look behind him, the street had emptied, leaving him feeling eerie, the hairs on the back of his neck standing upright.

Dedue knocked again. Ashe looked at the small space between the curtains inside and the windowsill, but he saw only darkness.

“Del? My name is Dedue. I’m here with Ashe - we just want to ask you a few questions.”

Mentioning both their names was either a good move or a bad one - if Del was in there, he’d certainly recognize at least one of their names: the leader of Duscur or the man he’d apparently sent a letter to.

But if he wasn’t?

Ashe moved out from the entryway, closer to the window so that he could peer through it, cupping his hands over his face to blot out the meager light of the outside so that he could adjust his vision.

In the sliver of the room inside that was visible to him, he saw nothing. Wooden flooring, still as the grave, and - a single black feather, crumpled on the floor in the very corner of his vision.

Something was wrong. Something _felt_ wrong, and when Dedue took a step back to look at him, Ashe knew what he had to do with a feeling of dread that overwhelmed anything else he might have felt.

“We need to get inside,” Dedue reasoned, calm somehow despite the atmosphere, “see if he left any clues for us.”

“Did any of the others leave clues?” Ashe asked, resistant, not liking what it was that Dedue was asking him to do but knowing it was necessary all the same.

Dedue shook his head.

“None of the others have sent messages either.”

And that sealed it. If Del had some sort of information, if he knew about what was going to happen _before_ these people got to him, then they had to figure out what he knew.

Reluctantly, Ashe stepped back up in front of the door and reached into his pouch, pulling out a small and well-worn toolkit before kneeling in front of the lock.

Picking a lock was a lot like needlework. Each movement had to be careful, precise and depending on the complexity of the pattern or the lock, a small mistake could ruin it altogether. Kneeling like this, Ashe was blind to the inner mechanisms of the sturdy steel lock, but when he closed his eyes, he thought of Dedue’s stitching, the way he’d resorted to embroidery during the war when there was no garden to tend to.

A needle being threaded. A gentle rhythm to it, the steel sliding against the soft fabric of the canvas. Delicate fingers, a brow furrowed in concentration. The metal of his pin slipped and caught on the third hook inside of the lock and he eased it down, as gentle as Dedue when he would tie off the ends of his thread. The next and final pin, further back - far enough that Ashe had to lean in, press his ear to the door and close his eyes, doing it by sound alone.

He held his breath. Dedue did also. Ashe thought of the scarf that Dedue had finished embroidering before the war was over, the scarf that he’d draped around Ashe’s throat on a cold day, where he could feel the warmth of it breathe life back into his frozen cheeks - and the lock clicked open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 3, or: Ashe's No Good, Very Bad Day

As soon as Ashe opened the door, he was hit with a scent so vile that he recoiled, his stomach tensing to keep from retching. Dedue caught wind of it a moment later and winced, reaching down for his scarf to wrap tightly around his nose and mouth to at least filter some of it out. Ashe likewise pulled the collar of his cloak up around his face and tried to stifle his breathing.

Death. It reeked of death. He could taste it in his mouth when he opened it and so he kept it shut, breathing in the vile scent as he forced himself to take a step inside where the stench grew in intensity.

His eyes watered. He was so preoccupied with how terrible it was that he didn’t have time to think about the source of it as he scrabbled for the nearby lantern and lit it, turning back over the room.

The entryway showed some signs of struggle, with a dark scorch mark in the wall and another section of the wall caved in, struck by some mighty blow. Further on, toward the window was a small path of crumpled feathers like the one he’d been able to see, leading to the corpse of a bird tucked away in the corner, as if it had crawled there after some fatal blow to die.

A raven.

Dedue appeared to steel himself and moved further into the house, going past the entryway into the common room where he stopped in the doorway. Ashe followed him and looked inside, his heart clutched high in his chest.

More birds. Half a dozen of them, twisted and broken and dead. Their cages were strewn about the living area as well, smashed open and left on the ground to rot. Ashe recognized the birds as trained messengers through the identifying tags on their legs, and the torn pouches that they carried messages in.

His mind flashed back to the bird that he’d received in the aviary in Fhirdiad, poorly trained and ruffled. If it escaped from here, it was no shock that it would be in distress - it was a miracle that any of them survived at all.

“...he clearly was in the business of sending messages,” Dedue observed, kneeling next to one of the sad lumps of feather and bone, “these are ravens from the south. Judging from the cages, he kept them.”

Ashe didn’t respond. He was instead staring, transfixed, at a darkened doorway that branched off from the main common area, one that seemed likely that it belonged to the bedroom. The smell was bad in the common area, but he could tell that it was even worse in there.

His choice was to answer Dedue or to move toward that room and it wasn’t even remotely close: Ashe moved toward the doorway as if transfixed, his feet dragging on the floor, boots crunching in the old and dried blood.

The room was dark. The lantern was in Ashe’s hand but he didn’t want to raise it, not with the telltale smear of dark blood on the ground at his feet. He knew what it was before he could even look at it.

Still, he owed it to Del to gaze upon his decomposing corpse, to pay some kind of respects to him, and so when Ashe finally raised the lantern and _looked_ , forced himself with his entire body rigid with tension, he saw the thing he’d been afraid of since coming to this house - no, since first arriving to the docks.

His man. His employee, someone who he sent here on a mission, dead because of him.

His fault.

Ashe only spared a single glance at the sunken eyes, the caved-in head, the bloody, twisted mess of a body before he raised his spare hand to his mouth, taking a sharp step back and stopped by the bulk of Dedue’s form, standing behind him.

Dedue observed the body as well, and he caught the lantern before Ashe dropped it. Ashe took a shaky exhale, turning and burying himself against Dedue’s chest, his shoulders hunched with the guilt that felt as if it would eat him alive.

Dedue was not a stupid man. He could put two and two together.

“...we can’t talk in here,” he said stiffly, pulling back from Ashe’s emotional grip, hefting the lantern in his hand and turning to go, “let’s go back outside.”

Del was twenty-two… twenty-three? Young, eager to make a name for himself, loyal, and… Ashe couldn’t think of anything else that he knew about him. Anonymity was the name of the game, but when it came to those under him, why did he distance them so much and then send them into these sorts of situations?

 _No_ , he thought as Dedue ushered him outside, _I had no idea Duscur would be dangerous_. But then what of his woman, Anya, in Enbarr? What of the others in the other territories?

Del knew something, he _knew_ something, and he’d died getting that information to Ashe. The piece of paper tucked inside his pocket was the weight of a life and everything it entailed.

 _Send army_.

They had to. Regardless of Dedue’s feelings, what else could they do? What kind of monster could destroy a body like that? How could the outside of the house look so normal when the inside hid - _that_?

Ashe stumbled back out onto the front steps of the home, his breath coming in shaky gasps. His chest was tight. He couldn’t breathe. He reached up to pull the fabric back down under his chin and gasped, searching for a familiar face, but all he found was Dedue’s hard eyes, his arms folded over his chest.

“He was your spy.” Dedue said evenly, and it sounded like an accusation.

Breaking, it was all breaking - Dedue’s trust, Ashe’s competence, how did Claude think that he could do this? Everything he touched was ruined, and all he wanted to do was _help_ -

“Dedue…”

“If you truly care for me, you’ll be honest with me now.”

Ashe’s knees felt like giving out. He never intended to be dishonest, never wanted this to happen. He reached up, sank his face in his hands, and nodded once in affirmation, felt Dedue - and everything he represented - slip through his fingers one final time.

He had to. He had no choice.

“...it isn’t just Duscur,” he tried to explain, his voice muffled through his hands. Ashe stumbled forward to sit on the short staircase leading up to the front door because his legs felt as if they would no longer carry him, “I have them everywhere - all across Fódlan. It’s my job, Dedue -”

“Does Dimitri know?”

Dedue’s voice was soft, hushed. Of course he would think of Dimitri first, of his close friend… the treaties between them that Ashe had broken because - well, that was just the way of the world, wasn’t it? Almyra had spies in Fódlan, as did Dagda, Brigid… it was part of leading a nation, and yet he didn’t think that Dedue would be amenable to that excuse.

Ashe shook his head, letting his hands fall from his face so he could press his cheek against his knee. He thought he might be sick: the lingering scent from the house, the visceral image of Del’s corpse in his mind’s eye and this, losing Dedue, losing everything - it all churned in his stomach and he had to swallow down bile.

“I don’t tell him how I get information. Or anything that isn’t - important.” Ashe took in a shaky breath, his eyes watering, “Even the important things… I just try to keep people safe, in Fódlan and Duscur and everywhere I can. That’s what Claude taught me.”

Dedue was behind him and so Ashe couldn’t see his reaction, but there was a lull in the conversation at the mention of Claude’s name, and he imagined Dedue going introspective again.

“I remember now,” he murmured on an exhale, “Claude recommended you for this. Trained you.”

“‘It’s better to have all the cards and dole them out as necessary then it is to have a losing hand,’” Ashe quoted softly from memory. The most important lesson that Claude had told him, one that he’d taken to heart, one that lead him to… this. “I would - Dedue, I would never use information against you. The first thing I did when I got this message was to go to you. Please.”

He didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore, just that he was begging. _Trust me, stay with me, forgive me_.

But Dedue owed him none of those things.

“What did you learn about me?”

The question came firm, as if Dedue hadn’t heard him at all. Ashe looked up, confused for a moment, and found Dedue’s flinty eyes, his tight jaw.

Only a few hours ago, Dedue’s fingers were brushing against his hair.

“I don’t - what do you…?”

“Me,” Dedue repeated, before clarifying, “what did your spy tell you of the leader of Duscur? Am I too proud? Too soft? Did you agree with me on my policy changes?”

Ashe rushed to stand on his unsteady legs, as if desperate to prove Dedue wrong, his head shaking quickly.

“No - no, none of that. I never had him look into you, I wouldn’t -”

“Duscur doesn’t employ spies,” Dedue said, stepping back and out of Ashe’s reach, “not against itself and certainly not against her own allies. I knew you were - what you did. I knew it was necessary for a country of Fódlan’s size, recovering from a civil war. But I thought you’d be honest with me. That you and Dimitri would trust me to govern my own people.”

Ashe closed his eyes and stood there. What else could he do? Dedue was right - what Ashe thought was him trying to protect everyone was in fact evidence that he did not trust Dedue to obtain the same information or act in the same ways that he might. And if he showed here that he didn’t trust Dedue, then how could he ask for the same in turn?

There was nothing said for a long few moments, and Ashe tried to be strong, tried to force himself to keep standing, to open his eyes again and look up toward Dedue, but he didn’t know what to say - he’d said it all already. All of it except:

“I’m sorry.”

Dedue let out a long breath and shook his head and for the first time, Ashe could see the tremble of his lip as he struggled with his own barely-repressed emotion.

“...I’m sending a crew to clean this up in the morning,” he told him, making a decision, “I suggest you remove any evidence from this house that you do not want them to find. If the other officials find out about this, I cannot guarantee their continued goodwill.”

The other officials. Dedue’s partners in leadership, many of whom were understandably hesitant about moving forward with an alliance with the former Kingdom. The ones who Dedue doubtlessly had to convince to enact their current treaties, the ones who Ashe knew looked down on Dedue for his friendship with the King.

The criticism he must have endured. The hardships he’d faced, all for Ashe to throw it back into his face like this… and then for Dedue to tell him to hide the evidence, for Dedue to _cover_ for him - the lump in his throat returned and Ashe nodded, unable to say anything as Dedue stepped past him, their shoulders brushing as he moved back out onto the street and into the night.

-

The cleanup was horrible. Ashe did not begrudge Dedue for not staying - how could he? - but forcing himself to go back inside that house was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Ashe had seen the ends of battles before. He had killed more than his fair share of men and women on the battlefield by Dimitri’s order, and had seen for himself what a mountain of corpses looked like as they were set alight.

But never something like this. Never someone in their own home, with memories of who they were decorated all around them.

Ashe found a bag and reluctantly began to gather up the birds on the ground, tucking them all into the sack. When he was done, he gathered the feathers, the bones, the cages, everything he could find that spelled evidence to the fact that Del used messenger ravens.

It was sickening work, and after the first half hour or so, he found that his mind closed itself off to his task and he continued, methodical, deadened in his motions as he knelt on the wood floor and cleaned the blood as best he could before moving out back and finding a shovel.

He dug.

The hole had to be deep enough to cover the bag in its entirety and so Ashe worked at it for some time, until he could feel his old archery calluses boiling up into blisters, until the muscles in his shoulders screamed.

When the hole was deep enough, he went back inside.

The living area did not have much in it by means of evidence but Ashe searched all the same, upending Del’s couch cushions, opening the drawers in his desk, paging through his small bookshelf.

Ashe had pulled out five books and glanced through all of them, but when he removed the sixth, his knuckles rapped against the back of the shelf on accident and heard a sound that was oddly hollow. Closer inspection found that the bookshelf had a false backing, and when he found the inconspicuous tab to open the fake panel, he tugged at it, opening up the secret compartment to find a leatherbound case, no larger than a sheet of paper.

Ashe pulled it out and brought the lamplight closer to look at it, opening the case and holding back the loose papers that threatened to spill out.

A letter from Del’s mother, explaining her concern that her son was a spy. Letters from other spies in the network, keeping track of comings and goings - many letters from Anya, the spy in Enbarr, seemingly discussing nothing important.

One from Ashe himself, unsigned, but he would recognize his own handwriting anywhere.

 _Keep your head down,_ it said, _you’re doing good work. Stay safe._

Ashe stared at that message for a long time. He didn’t remember writing it - he’d written so many like it, after getting a good report or a question of action. For Del to keep it like this… it clearly meant something to him.

Behind it was another letter, one of pardon from Faerghus, signed by one of the minor officials in Dimitri’s court. Del’s only form of defense, should he be caught by friendly hands.

Ashe sighed and collected all the letters, bringing them over to the hole he’d dug where he placed the leatherbound case on top of the bag. He reorganized the bookshelf, pieced briefly through the kitchen, before finding himself at the bedroom again.

He had to go back in there. There was no other choice.

Spies, as a general rule, kept as little evidence of their home nation as possible on their person or in their belongings. Ashe did not think that he would find anything further, not with Del’s letters already outside, but he needed to search anyway and so finally, he dragged himself in the room where the corpse was.

 _You’ve seen a body before,_ he told himself, _you’ve seen dozens of them. You can do this._

He avoided looking at Del’s rotting face, instead lowering the lantern so he could look at his clothing for any obvious patches or insignias, then searched through his pockets as he’d done more times than he cared to recollect. Nothing, nothing, loose change, nothing.

The fingers on Del’s left hand, Ashe noted, were stained with old ink splotches. When he stood and looked toward the writing desk, he found the source: a dried up inkwell, splatters of black ink, a quill snapped in two, and a book on sailing laying open, with part of the exposed page torn out.

Ashe closed the book gently and put the quill away, briefly searching the desk for anything more, but there was nothing to be found. Looking through the pages of the book again, Ashe found nothing, save for a few more blots of ink from Del’s last attempted message.

He took the book outside with him and placed it in the hole with the rest of the things, then reached inside of his pouch for a match. The fire was small and short, the light inconspicuous from a distance. Once the items inside of the hole were charred enough to be unrecognizable, Ashe recovered it with dirt and tamped it flat before leaving.

It was dark by the time he finally began to make his way back to the inn, the streets even more bare than they had been before. Early evening had slipped into nighttime, and Ashe realized he hadn’t eaten since much earlier in the day.

With each step further from Del’s house, he felt more of his… _personhood_ returning to him after he had blocked everything out during his cleanup. His emotions flowed back but left him numb in the intensity of it all: Del’s death, the looming _thing_ that caused it and the other disappearances, Dedue’s rejection… it weighed on him until each step felt herculean, until he just wanted to get back to his bed and collapse for a few hours to contemplate his next move.

He was lost in his thoughts as he made his way back, contemplating everything from the decomposing husk of Del’s body to the letter he’d written him once long ago, to Dedue’s fingers in his hair - so much so that the gentle crackle of magic in the air went unnoticed until its scent went acrid, searing at Ashe’s nostrils.

The hair at the back of his neck stood up and Ashe swung around, his eyes wide as he felt… _something_. Something was there.

He didn’t travel with his bow, but he had a dagger at his hip that his hand gravitated toward, fingers clutching at the hilt as he searched for the source of the magic that was now powerful enough to levitate the smallest of stones off of the ground before him. The presence of it, the _weight_ felt crushing, and Ashe could barely breathe as the air in front of him sliced in two, parting to reveal a dark portal to a shadowy place. 

Ashe moved backward, stumbling on the rock, his eyes fixated on the portal as a hand reached through onto his side, sturdily gloved and closing its fist on open air, as if wrenching aside a spiderweb. The portal opened wider and a man stepped out, bulky and thuggish, his squash nose too large for his reddened face. He was dressed in a dark cloak, not dissimilar to Ashe’s, and as other portals opened near him, the two additional figures who stepped out were dressed much the same.

“...who are you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. The first man who had arrived - the leader, Ashe assumed - snorted, as if the question was funny while the portals closed behind him and his friends.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice thick and gritted. Under his cloak, his hand lingered over a blade - Ashe could hear the metallic sounds of his allies drawing their weapons as well. “Now won’t you be a good little rabbit and come here?”

Assassins, then. Warped in by some kind of magic - from their employer, maybe? But it didn’t matter. What _did_ matter was survival, which meant turning tail and running.

He moved as quick as he could, darting between the other two figures, ducking his head to make his run for it, but one of their hands caught on the edge of his cloak and stopped him, jerking him backward by the fabric and knocking Ashe off of his feet.

He fell to the ground, hard and breathless and tried again, scrabbling to try and escape between them but the one on the right - a woman, maybe, judging by her build - jerked up her boot to slam her knee into his face, sending him rolling.

Ashe tasted something warm and wet. He sputtered in it while another boot slammed into his ribs, shocking the breath from him. Another kick and his world spun. He covered his face with his arms to protect himself, tried to curl as small as he could, but a thick hand buried itself in his hair, making a fist around his locks and yanking him upright again.

“Seems like overkill to send all three of us after a rabbit like you,” the leader’s voice bragged, turning Ashe to face him from where he held him by the hair. Ashe could feel blood dripping down his face from his nose, his mouth. He was exhausted before, now the pain blotted out everything until it felt like the best course of action would be to give up, to take it, to let them do what they would.

But he couldn’t.

He had two cards left in his sleeve. Both of them could get him killed if he played them wrong, and so he tried the safer option first.

“I’m - “ he breathed, swallowed blood, spoke again, “I’m a member of King Dimitri’s royal court. Any action against me, is - is treason, punishable by death.”

There was a telltale pause. The fist in his hair loosened by a smidge, and Ashe could open his eyes just wide enough to see the woman turn toward their leader.

“ _Did you know about this?_ ” she hissed at him under her breath.

“ _It doesn’t change anything,_ ” their third companion, a red haired man - the one with the boots that kicked him - whispered back, “ _we still have orders_.”

“Shut up, both of you!” Their leader snapped, jerking Ashe upward again, his other hand reaching for the blade at his belt. “King Dimitri can’t reach us in the shadows. Do you want him to tell his friends what he saw?”

The blade pressed forward, inching closer to Ashe’s belly. He squeezed his eyes shut, mind racing.

“He knows I’m here,” Ashe tried again, honest, “I sent him a letter before I left. If I don’t return within the week, he’s coming to Duscur with an army.”

Another pause, but not a heartening one. It only made the man before him smile wider, the sight more and more sickening.

“Then we’d better take your head back so the dark ones can study your face.”

Time for the second option.

Ashe kicked out at the man’s stomach as a distraction while his hand twisted, igniting the mechanism in his sleeve that flung a blade into his palm. It wasn’t much of one - barely a stiletto, not something he could trust to even cut through a thick cloth, but he didn’t need it to cut through cloth.

He lashed upward with it, slashing over the wrist of the hand holding him by the hair. The leader cursed and simultaneously jabbed desperately forward with his sword as his fingers released him out of instinct. The blow that was meant for his torso slashed into his side instead, not immediately fatal but sending pain bursting through him like lightning as he tumbled to the ground - he’d anticipated this. He grit his teeth and rolled, ignoring the sudden screaming pain in his side, his other hand tucking into his belt for his sturdier dagger and drawing it as he slashed again at another hand that reached for him.

The woman was the only one of the three quick enough to dive for him, her sword flashing in the darkness of the night. Ashe deflected it, barely, but the blade drove past the hilt of his dagger, slicing cleanly into his forearm.

Her overeager lunge sent her offbalance though, enough so that Ashe could scramble in the opposite direction and _finally_ get to his feet. The smaller man reached into his cloak for something - another weapon probably, but Ashe wasn’t going to stay around and find out what it was.

He was quick despite his exhaustion and injuries, faster than any of them, and so he turned and ran.

The three of them gave chase of course, their leader howling curses into the night.

Ashe darted into an alleyway, reaching for anything he could touch and sending it crashing back behind him - a crate, a garbage bin, a piece of outdoor furniture, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was slowing them enough.

He emerged onto the next street over, still a residential area. Ashe tore for the ends of the street where the shadows loomed even darker, hoping to find some place to hide. His would-be killers were not nearly as quiet as he was and were not quiet about their dissatisfaction with his escape attempt. Shouldn’t someone hear them? Shouldn’t someone help?

 _Unless people were used to this_ , he thought darkly. With the rumored attacks, the disappearances… it made sense that the people wouldn’t want to risk sticking their head out of their doors.

Ashe huffed, shakily climbed a fence and dropped into another alleyway, peering up the buildings around him. He was between a storefront and a home: the storefront had an apartment above it, making the building taller, while the home was a squat single story.

He’d gained ground on them, enough to where they could not see his next move. Ashe bit his lip and _jumped_ , his foot finding the edge of one of the rubbish bins and using it to launch himself upward, to a windowsill, where he clambered higher to the ridge between the first and second floors of the shop.

His arm screamed in pain, as did his ribs, his side, but he ignored it all out of pure survival necessity, instead leveling the balcony and tucking himself into the corner of it. The roof itself was slanted and tiled so he could not hide on top of it without being seen, but the overhang over this balcony was just enough that he could shrink back into the shadow of it and remain mostly obscured from the street below.

He did so, tucking his cloak around him and curling as tightly as he could.

There were footsteps in the alleyway underneath. Cursing as they came across the bin that he’d knocked over on his climb, discussion as they exited the alleyway on the other side to see no one there.

“We can’t lose him. They’ll have our fucking _heads_.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Why didn’t you kill him when you had him in your hands?”

“Because _you_ were pissing yourself about the fucking _king_.”

His heart was thudding so loud that he was sure that they would be able to hear it if they just listened hard enough. Blood dripped down his arm and stained his shirt, but Ashe didn’t dare move to wipe it off or try to put pressure on the wounds, not when his pursuers were so close. It took everything in him to remain perfectly still, holding his breath until he felt his lungs burning, until he _had_ to breathe, and so inhaled as slowly and evenly as he could despite his body screaming for air.

The three of them split up - one going to the left, one to the right, and one staying in the area. Ashe waited for what felt like hours for the two of them to leave and waited even longer for them to get a good distance away.

The remaining assassin - the younger, red haired man - kicked at one of the crates until it splintered, opened the overturned bin and looked inside. His search brought him to the window that Ashe had used to climb upward, and Ashe heard the sharp intake of breath when he found what Ashe knew to be his own smears of blood from his hand when he’d vaulted the windowsill.

One man. He couldn’t kill all three, but he might be able to kill one, if he could surprise him. Ashe didn’t dare move quite yet, not even to reach for his weapons again, when he heard the sound of fabric tearing from beneath him, and then a grunt of effort as the man below him wrapped his fist in a remnant of his cloak.

 _He thinks I got inside_ , Ashe suddenly realized a split second before the shattering of glass as his pursuer broke the window and reached down to unlatch it.

Ashe knew how to be quiet. He had spent years of his life learning how to not make a sound, how to remain as unseen as humanly possible. He’d broken into houses without a single whisper, stolen coins from the pockets of passersby, and - most importantly - helped Dimitri get into the gates of Enbarr.

He could be silent when the time called for it, and it called for it now.

Ashe breathed again and undid his cloak so the fluttering of it wouldn’t give him away, before shifting into a crouched position on the balcony, waiting as the man below him gingerly undid the lock from the outside by reaching his hand through the broken glass of the window.

It was a large window, one that opened toward the outside. With it undone, he tugged it upward - it gave a protesting _creak_ , which was all that Ashe needed to silently vault himself over the railing of the balcony, twisting at the last moment so that he would land directly behind the assassin.

The cut at his side _pulled_ and he flinched, making the movement clumsier than it should have been. He was seen - the man turned his head in surprise, but with both of his arms holding the window open to climb through it, he could not reach for his weapon fast enough, and Ashe already had his dagger at the ready.

The window fell, slamming back into the sill as Ashe leapt forward and slit the man’s throat, his other hand reaching for his mouth to keep his dying screams quiet.

He waited until the life bled out of him, holding him down through his dying struggles.

There wasn’t much time. The window had made a loud sound and people would investigate sooner or later. Ashe briefly searched the man’s pockets, found nothing, and took his sword before collecting his cloak and retreating the way he came.

-

He was hurt.

Ashe tucked himself into another nearby alleyway, but he knew that he couldn’t stay outside and exposed for long, not with the other assassins still searching for him and bound to find the body of their comrade soon.

His head was pounding too much to be able to think clearly but he tried to force it anyway, wiping the blood from his face and wincing as the motion made pain lance through his arm from where he was cut and still bleeding.

They knew where he would be - but not _who_ he was. There was a chance they simply weren’t told of his relationship to Dimitri, but for now, it was all he had to go on. If they knew where he would be, were they following him since he arrived? Were they watching Del’s house for whoever would be the recipient of his frantic message to arrive and search for clues?

Was Dedue okay?

The thought struck him and he jerked upright in realization. If they were watching the house, then Dedue left first… Dedue would have been the first one attacked.

He couldn’t go back to the inn, not looking like this and not when he suspected he had been followed. But the town hall - that was populous enough to where an assassin would have a difficult time warping in unnoticed, and Dedue was staying there. Dedue would have returned there.

It was where Ashe had to go now too.

The trek was long and grew more difficult as his injuries seeped more blood and his head began thudding in pain with every beat of his heart. Ashe had to stop multiple times to conceal himself back into the shadows as footsteps came and went, no longer trusting any eyes that were not his own. Blood dripped from his arm and down his hand - he kept wiping at it with his sleeve, until the fabric was too drenched to mop it up any further.

The town hall was in the next district over. Ashe began to feel woozy as he walked, lightheaded, but he couldn’t stop. Every so often, he’d press himself against one of the walls, squeeze his eyes shut tight, and force himself to focus. _Focus_. His head swam as the last of the adrenaline faded from his veins, and he tried harder. Focus, _focus_ , be unseen, move quickly and quietly -

\- the last block was the hardest of all. Ashe reached for a shadow to conceal himself in and pressed himself facefirst into the darkness, which moved out from under him, whipping against his cheek - it was a cloak. The owner of the cloak stepped away, offended, and Ashe mumbled out what he hoped sounded like an apology.

He blinked and found a staircase, but lifting his feet to each step felt more difficult than anything he’d ever done in his life. He fell halfway up and groaned, fingers reaching for the steps to crawl upward.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to close his eyes and go limp, but he couldn’t. He had to make sure that Dedue was alright. He had to protect him. Ashe’s fingers tightened on the top step and he forced himself up again, standing unsteadily and lifting his feet again to walk.

One foot in front of the other. His vision swam, he couldn’t read the plaque in front of him, but he knew where the residential areas of the town hall were, small apartments tucked above the main meeting area. More stairs.

He didn’t even try to walk up them this time, merely knelt down, crawling slowly on his hands and knees up the spiral staircase, leaving bloody handprints in his wake. Dedue. _Dedue_.

Dedue.

There were hands on him, strong fingers around his shoulders, a voice that he couldn’t understand and then his world shifted upward, then upside down as his head lolled back. He wasn’t pressed up against the hardened stairwell anymore, he was cushioned in something softer, a - an arm? Twin arms, under his knees and shoulders. He was moving.

He thought he heard his name but it might not have been real, because when he closed his eyes, his dreams beckoned him further into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far! I am going to be delaying Chapter 4 by a day so that I can try to finish Chapter 6 on time. Enjoy your cliffhanger! c:


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe meets his rescuer and some things fall into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the wait, guys! The next chapter is also entirely written but I'm going to hold off for a day or two so I can really get into the final chapter. Thank you for your patience!

The feast was almost as ornate as the wedding itself, which was hardly a surprise considering Claude was one of the grooms. He’d tipped his glass at Ashe earlier that night and winked at him, as if extraordinarily pleased with himself - Ashe supposed he had every right to be. He offered Claude a brief smile in exchange, before turning away, keeping an eye on the rest of the comings and goings.

There were a few Adrestian nobles there who were likely not pleased with the situation, but they could do little about it - he hoped. He watched the servers, moved back into the kitchens to observe the cooks, ensured that all the food that was served to the two kings was as safe as he could muster.

Ashe had a way of being unseen that let him into rooms where strangers would have been scrutinized, had a way of making friends that gave him keys to all the locked doors in the fort, had a way of conducting his business to ensure that he was unobtrusive, unnoticed.

Well. Mostly unnoticed.

“Ashe.”

He turned, the voice familiar, soft. Dedue was behind him in all the beautiful blue-red robes of Duscur, gold inlay in his brocade, a pendant around his neck. He’d done well for himself and for his people, and although Ashe missed his quiet presence in Fhirdiad, he knew that Dedue’s return to Duscur was inevitable. If such a thing as _destiny_ existed, Dedue’s was there.

That didn’t mean that Ashe could stop thinking about him. His return to Garreg Mach during the war had caught a lot of them by surprise and back then, Ashe had been too young to categorize his relief into well-defined words, still caught up in his children’s books and fairy tales with no way of navigating his actual emotions.

And then - there was the war, and war was no time for confessions.

Then there was Nemesis. Then there was the coronation, a Kingdom to rebuild, then there was Claude coming to him one day with a smile, saying _’Hey Ashe, do you have a minute? I have a job for you.’_

Dedue faded into the background, but the further he drew away, the more Ashe missed his presence. He found himself thinking of their boyhood spent together, the way they’d try one another’s cooking, how Dedue’s strong arms fit around his own when he was showing him just how to properly flip an omlette. 

He found himself watching, more than he should. He found Dedue watching back.

And then - there was this.

“Dedue. It’s been awhile.”

Ashe was dressed for the festivities, but in more muted blues and grays, specifically chosen to be respectful, but not to stand out. He’d been getting better at it, at looking for things, at - well, all aspects of his job. In the years since Claude had left to reclaim the throne of Almyra, Ashe had learned a lot.

About being a spymaster. About how a Kingdom should be run. About himself - his own feelings that he grappled with late at night, when he felt too restless to sleep.

Dedue smiled and it mirrored his fantasies.

“It has been. I hope you’ve been well.”

Ashe nodded, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. It wasn’t even... suggestive, just Dedue being kind as always, warm as always. How did that still get so under his skin, after all this time?

“Yes. I’ve heard great things about your work in Duscur. I’m happy that you’ve been successful.”

Dedue inclined his head graciously and Ashe felt his heart weaken again. With Dedue in front of him, it was impossible to focus on anything else - certainly not on his job.

There was a pause, a predictable lull in the conversation and Ashe glanced away, laughing awkwardly, but Dedue did not join in. Instead he paused, his mouth going tight and he took in a deep breath before holding out his hand.

His fingers were stiff, as if he was keeping his hand tense so it would not tremble.

“Would you...“ he started, then took another breath, “that is, I was wondering if you’d like to dance with me.”

Ashe stilled, watching Dedue with what he was sure was poorly-concealed shock. His heart felt as if it had frozen and the moment suspended in time, imprinting perfectly into memory, cleaner than any of the moments before and most of the moments after.

It stretched on, perfection, Dedue with his palm facing upward, Ashe with his fingers pressed against his chest in a pleasurable surprise. That was how he remembered it. That was _the_ moment.

Ashe’s hand in Dedue’s was a blur. He didn’t know how his feet moved, didn’t remember what he said, or how Dedue reacted, he just knew that the music was upbeat and festive.

Claude and Dimitri passed them on the dance floor with eyes only for one another and Ashe stepped forward, colors blurring, the warmth of Dedue’s fingers beckoning him forward.

The music gradually slowed and their movements slowed with it. The tone shifted, the world went soft and dark and Ashe let himself step closer, let himself close his eyes and rest his head against the warm bulk of Dedue's chest. Dedue’s arms blanketed around him and Ashe pressed his hands against him, listening to his heartbeat, how the even beats of it matched the music around them.

There was no one else. He was safe there. Calm. In the months and years to come, Ashe would come back to that moment when he needed to, pressed against the only man he’d ever loved, with their futures like a folded possibility in front of him.

“Dedue…” he’d said softly, his voice trembling. Dedue’s arms clutched tighter around him. Ashe would tell him, he would say it, he would turn that possibility into reality - he pulled away from Dedue’s arms, only enough to look up to him, his eyes wide, the words on his lips.

“- ser Gaspard.”

It always ended this way. It always _would_ end this way. A soldier with a report, something urgent enough to bring him reluctantly away from that scattershot of perfection.

 _Don’t go_ , he wanted to scream, _don’t leave_.

He always did. He always offered Dedue an apologetic smile and pulled himself away from his arms, telling himself that he’d come back to him when he had a moment.

The report kept him occupied for the rest of the night. Dedue’s duties took him back to Duscur early the next morning.

Ashe watched his hand move away from Dedue’s, watched his own sad smile as the world unraveled at the seams. _Stay_ , he wanted to beg, _stay with him -_

But he didn’t. He never did.

-

Ashe awoke with a pounding in his head, nausea gripping at his stomach. He was far away from Fodlan’s Locket and the wedding celebration, far from anything familiar except for the pain.

He gasped with it and forced his gummed eyes open, blinking quickly to try and assess the situation. It was dark, both in the room and in the sky visible through the window. He was in a bed: not cushioned, but comfortable enough, though that was hardly pertinent.

The room around him was still, sparsely decorated, with a writing desk, a small bookshelf, a chest at the foot of the bed with various medical supplies resting in a tray on top of it. No one else was in the room.

He flirted with the idea of panicking, hysteria rising like bile in his throat when he remembered what had happened: Del, the assassins, _Dedue_ , but his recollection of the journey to the Town Hall was fragmented, lost to dreams and blood loss.

But no - if the assassins had caught up to him, he would not be waking at all right now. If a stranger had taken him in, he’d either be in the medical wing - which this was not - or in someone’s home.

He didn’t think that this was someone’s home. The room was too small, the window too high up, the bed he was laying in too utilitarian, with thin sheets and blankets that were faded from frequent washes. An inn, maybe?

Ashe moved to sit up and gasped in pain as his old injuries made themselves known. His uninjured arm went to clutch at his waist where he realized he now had bandages wrapped around the gash he’d received from his assassin’s blade. His arm was similarly wrapped, and as the blankets fell away, Ashe realized he was shirtless and looked down over his torso at the mottled bruising across his ribs, multicolored and unpleasant.

Dedue.

He still had to make sure he was alright. His mindless drive to get him to the Town Hall earlier that night had failed, but now that he was awake again, he’d be able to find him more easily.

Ashe grit his teeth through the pain and moved to stand, every muscle in his body aching. His pants had been exchanged for a looser cloth of pajama bottoms, too large for him, and he had to reach down to clutch at the hem to keep them up.

Alright. Before he could break out of here and find Dedue, he needed clothing.

 _And_ , his stomach angrily reminded him, _food_.

Ashe stumbled to the chest - the only place where someone might store clothing in this room - and lifted the metal tray off of it, the small tools clattering with the trembling of his hands. When he finally returned to the chest and opened it, he found clothes inside - but not his own.

He went still at the sight of the fabrics - blues and reds, gold brocade - and hand embroidered scarves, folded neatly and set away, ornate, lovingly crafted, and so familiar that the very sight of them made Ashe’s grip go slack and the lid of the chest slammed closed in a resounding noise.

Those were Dedue’s clothes. Ashe reoriented himself to the knowledge, looking down and realizing that the pajama pants he wore also likely came from Dedue, that the room was probably one of the small apartments in the Town Hall.

He’d made it. He didn’t remember reaching Dedue’s door but he’d made it somehow.

There were footsteps outside the door and Ashe froze like a rabbit ( _rabbit_ , the assassin had mocked him, and he hated how true it rang) when the handle twisted and the door opened, leaving him face to face with Dedue. Alive, healthy Dedue.

“You’re awake,” Dedue breathed, moving into the room quickly and closing the door behind him, kneeling down next to him, his hand sliding the tray away so that he could move closer, “Ashe - why are you on the floor?”

Ashe shook his head numbly, relief flooding through him and making him feel faint. For so long, he’d carried the urgency - _make sure Dedue is okay, save Dedue, the assassins must have seen him_ \- but seeing him alive and unharmed allowed Ashe to take in a breath for what felt like the first time in ages.

“My… my clothes,” he mumbled, though it didn’t seem important now. The words didn’t sound right on his tongue, and he reached up to absently touch his face and felt tenderness in his jaw.

Right. He remembered a knee slamming into his face.

“...I thought,” he continued slowly, sounding out the words carefully in his mind. Dedue waited patiently for his response, though Ashe could see the concern in his eyes, “that you were in danger. I was looking for my clothes… so I could find you.”

“You found me,” Dedue assured, slowly reaching his hand out and giving Ashe time to back away from the touch. When he didn’t, Dedue’s fingers closed comfortingly over his shoulder, skin to skin. Warm. “You found me when you were delirious with blood loss, half dead on my doorstep. You passed out before I could get you inside.”

Ashe looked down, self conscious.

“I… I had to make sure you were alright.” And he was - what was more, they still had time. If Dedue was alright, unharmed, then they could use this opportunity to gather their resources and strike before the thugs could see them coming. He looked up toward Dedue again, eyes bright. “ _Oh._ They’re on the streets. I killed one in an alleyway - I’ll show you where. The other two are probably still out there looking for me, if we gather the militia we can find and question - ”

“Ashe.” Dedue said softly, cutting him off. His fingers tightened at Ashe’s shoulder, his mouth in a thin line, “that was two days ago.”

It didn’t quite register at first. Ashe blinked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked outside and it was still night time, the same night. He was attacked only a few hours earlier - wasn’t he?

“...what?”

Dedue’s hand fell, drifting down Ashe’s bicep, his fingers brushing against the edge of the bandage on his forearm. When he spoke, his words were slow, as if difficult to form.

“When I first saw you there, I thought you were dead. There was… a smeared trail of your blood, from where you dragged yourself in from the street. You didn’t stop to tend to your injuries, Ashe - it nearly killed you.”

“I thought they’d gotten to you,” he said, as if he could convince Dedue that it was a reasonable explanation, as if that somehow excused the guilt from settling in his chest at making Dedue worry like this, “they came after me when I left Del’s house. I thought they were watching it - that they saw you leave. I couldn’t stop until I found you.”

Dedue shook his head, his hand falling back now and Ashe missed the touch, shivering in the cool air.

“I spent the first day not knowing if you would live. The second, not knowing what had happened to you. I should have - “ he inhaled shakily and Ashe realized suddenly that he was trembling with emotion. “ - I should have never left you alone.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault.” He moved then, initiating the contact this time and reaching out with his uninjured hand to touch Dedue’s jaw, to feel the angles and planes of him, the stubble of his beard that he hadn’t trimmed in a day or two. “You didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t either. If I was more aware… if I’d paid more attention… Goddess, Dedue, I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“And I, you.”

Dedue opened his arms and pulled him closer and Ashe sank against his chest for the first time since _then,_ the embrace more reassuring than it was romantic but it was soft and comforting all the same. Ashe smelled the musk in his throat, pressed his uninjured cheek against the rough fabric of his shirt, and committed this to memory, like so many other moments he’d had with Dedue.

For the first time, he considered the danger he’d been in, just to ensure Dedue’s safety. How close he’d been to death. For the first time, Ashe realized just how far he was willing to go to protect him - to save him. He’d done it without a second thought, without any hesitation, half out of his mind with blood loss and determination, without any promise that Dedue would thank him for it, after what he’d done.

It was love. Pure and simple, the word he’d danced around for years, and he didn’t know if Dedue felt the same, particularly now when the wound of Ashe’s spy was still so fresh, but he didn’t say anything at the wedding feast the last time he was in Dedue’s arms like this, and he’d regretted it ever since.

“Dedue,” he whispered softly, clutching his fingers to the intricately-embroidered fabric of his shirt, “I have to tell you…”

Dedue’s fingers stroked over his hair, the sore parts of him from when he’d been grabbed so roughly by the assassin, and his touch made the sting of pain dissipate until Ashe almost felt sleepy again, in his arms.

“...I know,” Dedue finally said, gathering Ashe up in his arms. “Me too.”

It felt like a dream. Maybe it was one. Dedue’s presence was so gentle and his touch was so comforting that Ashe didn’t worry about what to say next, what to do next - he wanted to kiss him, but didn’t want to pull away from his embrace to do so, wanted to push him to the ground and show him just what he meant, but he was too tired.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Dedue murmured, sliding his arms underneath Ashe’s legs and lifting him as if he weighed nothing. Ashe clutched harder at his shoulders, curling into him, and never wanted to be put down - but it didn’t last for long at all. Dedue placed him back on the bed and pulled away, leaving Ashe cold as he went back to pick up the tray.

“Don’t go.”

It was soft and Ashe knew it sounded needy but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. Now that the panic and tension was gone his energy felt sapped, but he didn’t want to be alone, not after everything he’d been through, not after Dedue finally knew how he felt.

“I’m not,” Dedue murmured, “I’m just going to change your bandages.”

Ashe nodded mutely, placated, and Dedue set to work, gingerly unwrapping the bloodied cloth from his arm first.

He looked down at it and almost flinched in horror, his mind not quite able to accept that this injury belonged to _him_. When he’d been slashed at, he’d been high on an adrenaline rush, focused only on escape, survival, and then _Dedue_ \- he’d never even looked at it.

What he saw now was a grievous and swollen gash stretching for at least five inches across his forearm, his skin sewn back together by what was doubtlessly Dedue’s careful hand. Dedue had pressed a cloth between the bandages and the cut, gauze which was soaked in some kind of herbal ointment that he had beside him now.

“This was to stop the bleeding,” he explained, lifting the jar and smearing it across a clean swathe of gauze for the replacement, “I didn’t know what had happened - if I’d be putting your life in more danger by calling a healer. If you’d gotten much worse, I was going to risk it, but you managed to pull through.”

Ashe considered that, thought about Dedue tending to his unconscious body for days with no answers, and another pang of guilt rumbled through him.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but Dedue continued, excising his ache and worry over the past two days into careful, measured words. Ashe wasn’t sure if Dedue was saying this for any reason other than that he needed to speak, to make it real, to _talk_ about it, and so he closed his mouth and listened.

“I had to throw out your clothing - it was ruined. I have some things that might fit you for you to wear when you’re ready. I also have some soup on for you to eat when we’re done here.”

Ashe nodded, the hunger clawing at his belly making itself known again. Dedue must have fed him while he was unconscious somehow, or maybe he’d woken enough to eat - he didn’t remember. Either way, he was starving now and grateful for Dedue’s thoughtfulness.

When his arm was properly bandaged, Dedue went to his side, unfastening the tape there and gently prying back the gauze while Ashe hissed in pain. This one was bad as well, worse than he remembered, but Dedue’s gentle hands and careful touch helped to alleviate the sting.

“I don’t think any of your ribs were broken,” Dedue explained, nodding at the bruises on his torso, “but it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

The bandages secured over his side and Ashe inhaled quickly until the pain melted away as the ointment seemed to numb the cut back into a bearable throbbing.

“Please, Ashe… what happened?”

He looked down at Dedue, who was cleaning up now, packing up the bandages with his steady hand, but Ashe could see the way that his jaw went tight when he brushed his fingers over the dried blood. It hurt to see Dedue so sad, so uneasy, and Ashe reached out a hand for him, brushing his fingers over Dedue’s shoulder.

“...I don’t know. There were three of them. They waited until I left the house.” Ashe wracked his memory, trying to recall everything. “They were sent by some magic, like a Warp spell but… not. They opened a rift in the air - or someone did it for them - and they came through when I was alone.”

Dedue nodded, setting the tray aside and turning to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand lifting to brush his fingers against Ashe’s own.

“I told them that I was with Dimitri’s court,” he continued, thinking back, “that attacking me was punishable by death and that surprised them, but didn’t deter them. The intent was to kill me. When I said I would be expected back in Fhirdiad, they said...”

His brows furrowed as he forced his weak memory back to that scene, the man’s hand in his hair, the words he said.

“They said that they’d take my head back with them, so that the, um… ‘dark ones’ could study my face.”

“The dark ones?”

Ashe nodded in confirmation, his throat tight. He knew what Dedue was thinking - his mind was going there too.

But for now, he needed to focus on facts.

“I was able to get away. I ran and they chased me down. I hid on someone’s balcony and then when they followed, they couldn’t find me and decided to split up. I killed one of them and - and then I realized that they must have been waiting for me to leave the house. That they’d gotten to you too.”

“So you came to the town hall.”

Ashe nodded mutely, his story complete, and Dedue sighed, moving to stand.

“I need a moment to think. I’ll get your soup.”

And with that, he left the room.

Ashe sighed, looking down at his hands. The relief he felt was beginning to ebb away now that he’d recounted his story and came to the realization that this was still happening: someone was still looking to cause trouble in Duscur, someone had killed Del, tried to kill him, and they still didn’t know much about them. They were in danger no matter what they did - everyone was.

And if they had black magic on their side...

The door reopened a moment later and Dedue reentered with a small serving tray with a bowl of soup on it. Ashe sat up a little straighter in bed as Dedue handed the bowl to him and he took the first bite into his mouth.

It was heavenly. His stomach tightened at the first promise of food and Dedue hummed in warning.

“Try to eat slowly if you can.”

He tried - really he did - but he was starving and Dedue’s cooking always made him weak in the knees. Ashe finished it as slowly as he could muster to give his stomach time to adjust to suddenly being full, and Dedue sat back on the edge of the bed, watching him with his brow drawn tight in thought.

“It was my understanding that Claude eliminated the last of the cult years ago, after the end of the war.”

Ashe nodded. They were in Fhirdiad at the time, but the reports from Claude’s army were clear: Those Who Slither In The Dark were no more. So then, why did this have the prints of their handiwork all over it?

“I thought so too. But with the portals, and then what he said - the _dark ones_ , taking my head… I think that they meant to replicate my face, like they did with Tomas. The only time I’ve ever seen or heard of that magic was from them.”

It wasn’t a good thought, especially when he knew what happened the _last_ time Those Who Slither set their sights on Duscur.

Dedue took the empty bowl from Ashe’s hands and set it aside and Ashe longed for the contact of their fingers again, longed to lean in and kiss him, but - with all this going on, their feelings had to play a secondary role to their jobs.

It was what kept them apart for so long and it was keeping them apart now. Ashe couldn’t help but to resent it childishly, for keeping him from his desire, but the more logical part of him knew that there was no time to waste.

But if not now, when?

“It’s likely a small group in number,” Dedue mused, folding his arms as he contemplated, “if they were larger, they’d make more bold statements. More dead, more discord - rather than just kidnapping a few officials and killing a spy who found out about them.”

“And Claude _did_ eliminate their underground fortress,” Ashe reasoned, “so this is probably… a splinter faction, recruiting people who were unhappy with the Duscur decree to retaliate against you. Senca said that a member of the Kleiman family was involved - if they’re using her as a figurehead, they would get more for their cause and use their anger for…”

“Blood. That’s what they always want.”

Dedue was tense, his eyes a storm and Ashe tried to reach for him, but he stood up instead and began to pace around the room. Ashe knew that he was there during the Tragedy, knew that as much as Dimitri bore his trauma of the event on his sleeve, Dedue hid it deep in his heart.

“We’re not going to let what happened last time happen again.” Ashe tried to reassure him, tried to meet his eyes, but Dedue let out a short breath and turned away from him. “Dedue. We know about it now. We’ll stop them before they repeat history.”

With great effort, Dedue looked back at him, his expression fractured and Ashe longed to hold him, to bring him into his arms as Dedue had done for him, but he was too far away.

“...we know that they use the destruction as some kind of fuel for their rituals - their experiments. So they must be planning something, but they don’t have the strength to pull it off yet.”

“Del found out somehow,” Ashe said as he realized it, looking toward his lap as he brought up the memory of his betrayal once more, “he worked at the docks. He tried to send me a message, but he was killed.”

There was a pause and Dedue looked back at him, frowning.

“The dockmaster was one of the disappearances. Almost two weeks ago.”

The timing lined up. Everything about it lined up. If Del saw what had happened to the dockmaster - Dedue said that there were no witnesses to the abductions, no evidence. If Del _saw_ it, he’d have seen them.

And, Ashe thought with a twisting in his gut, they saw him too.

“If they got rid of the dockmaster… they’d have more freedom in the port to take supplies. Get whatever they need.” Ashe rubbed at his face, trying to think. “Who else has gone missing?”

“A lawmaker. A trader. A baker.” Dedue paused for a moment. “Then two evenings ago, a librarian.” Ashe looked up at him suddenly and Dedue nodded, answering his question before he could start to form the words. “The same one we spoke to, the woman who directed us to the house.”

“She disappeared -”

“The night you were attacked, yes.”

Ashe’s thoughts raced, a hand on his chin as he contemplated that new piece of information.

“She knew where we were going - where we’d be.”

“Yes.”

“She knew what we were after - _who_ we were after.”

“She did. She must have told them.”

Which meant that they weren’t followed. In a way, that was a relief - it meant that their opponent might not have the resources or the knowledge that Ashe thought they did. It made sense too then, why his assassins didn’t know about his relation to the King. They didn’t know _who_ he was - just that he was someone who was snooping around in Del’s place, a week and a half after Del managed to send a letter of warning.

There was a long pause as both of them digested the information, minds racing on what they could figure out next - but Ashe was drawing a blank. They needed to know where the group was located, what they were planning, where the next attack would be, and so far none of that was clear yet.

Which left them… better than where they started, but nowhere near where they needed to be. Ashe sighed, his earlier weariness returning to him now that he’d been fed.

“We’re going to need more allies. I can write Dimitri, but it’ll take awhile for the message to get to him - and for him to send anyone.”

Dedue was silent still, clearly struggling with Ashe’s suggestion. Accepting help from the Kingdom was not something that he wanted to do, Ashe knew, but the alternative if they failed without help was too dire to consider.

“I have soldiers,” he finally said, “several battalions posted nearby. We’ll investigate with those forces… I don’t believe we have time to wait for the message to be sent.”

It was reasonable and Ashe eventually nodded, his eyes drooping. Dedue seemed to notice this and moved closer to the bed once more, reaching for the blanket and tugging it up around him.

“You should rest. We won’t be getting anything done tonight anyway.”

“What will you be doing?” Ashe asked, glancing toward the door. He’d never seen the rest of the apartment. “Is this a guest room?”

Dedue shook his head. “I’ve been sleeping in the other room. There’s a couch out there.”

“I don’t…” Ashe paused, self conscious as he tugged the blanket up again, over his bruising. He shifted his legs awkwardly and couldn’t meet Dedue’s eyes, but he thought about their gentle embrace just a little while ago, about Dedue saying _me too_ , about how they'd never addressed it before tonight.

About the men who tried to kill him and the fear that he still hadn’t quite recovered from.

“...I don’t want to be alone. Can you - can you stay with me?”

Dedue hesitated and Ashe felt his heart wavering, stretched thin in the distance between them - but finally, he nodded.

“I’ll bring in some bedding for the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ashe breathed, trying not to laugh in his relief that Dedue wasn’t rejecting him, wouldn’t leave him when he needed company like this. “It’s your bed. You should sleep in it.”

“But you -”

“I promise I won’t snore.”

That seemed to make Dedue smile and he moved to the chest to take out his sleeping arrangement, hesitating a moment before he began to change.

Ashe had… seen him before. Like this. On the road, in an army, you often got eyefulls of your allies whether you want to or not: at a spring for bathing, due to shared tents, or really anything of the sort. Ashe knew what Dedue’s body looked like, had committed the firm planes of his back to blissful memory and revisited it more often than he’d like.

But…

Displayed before him like this, with Dedue’s arms twisting to reach for his pajama pants, the muscle of his stomach, the thin line of white hair that trailed downward - Ashe had to look away suddenly, aware that his face was already flushing dark red.

Dedue didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t comment on it. Instead, when he was changed (shirtless, his socks also removed, his long sleep pants the only thing he had on and _goddess_ , Ashe suddenly was second guessing his ability to sleep next to this man all night) he shut the light off and approached the bed, offering Ashe a questioning look, as if to ask if this was still alright.

In response, Ashe scooted over, pressed himself in the small space against the wall to offer Dedue ample room to crawl up next to him, which he did. The bed bowed under Dedue’s weight and he eased back, tugging the blankets up over his shoulders before pulling back to remove the hair tie keeping his bun in place, which allowed his long pale hair to cascade past his shoulders. Ashe couldn’t help but to watch, wishing to run his fingers through it.

He turned on his side to face Ashe. Ashe did the same. Neither of them were touching.

He could feel Dedue’s breath on his collarbone. His feelings felt so much bigger in the dark.

Nothing in Ashe’s head sounded right, despite the numerous things he wanted to say, so eventually he stopped trying to think of anything to say at all. Dedue’s fingers crept forward under the blankets until they brushed against Ashe’s own and Ashe turned his hand over to touch him, tangling them together.

He had him. Ashe thought that he'd lost Dedue time and again, and each time he was wrong. Now that Dedue was once more within his reach, Ashe told himself that he'd never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* there's only one bed


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe and Dedue continue to investigate and make a chilling discovery.

It was early afternoon when he woke, though he couldn’t remember falling asleep. He remembered feeling awkward, so close to his desire, remembered watching Dedue close his eyes, remembered Dedue drifting off with Ashe's gaze on him, now that he was finally given a chance to look.

Ashe remembered the minutes ticking by as he memorized each inch of Dedue’s exposed skin - the length of his lashes, the stern brow, the soft lines of his throat. He remembered laying next to him, and he must have fallen asleep somehow because he dreamed of Dedue taking him sailing instead of taking him to battle, and when he woke he reached for the comfort of his dream like a lifeboat.

When he woke, it was to Dedue watching _him_ now, relaxed and quiet in the bed next to him.

The memory of the previous night flooded back to him and Ashe inhaled sharply as if to start chattering away, to say something that might dismiss the way his heart skipped a beat when he woke up to Dedue’s gentle expression - but in the end, it was Dedue’s hand on his wrist underneath the covers, stroking against his pulsepoint that shocked him silent.

“You lied,” Dedue murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “you do snore.”

Ashe could feel his eyes go wide and the blood rush to his face as he pressed his injured hand to his mouth, as if to stifle any sound - snore or otherwise - that might come out. The process stung, but he barely paid it any attention, not when Dedue was laughing at his reaction like that.

He wanted to bury his face in the pillow in embarrassment but he didn’t, and for a few seconds there, the most important thing in the world to him was whether or not he snored loudly enough to keep Dedue up.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s endearing,” Dedue reasoned, lifting his free arm up to tug Ashe’s fingers away from his mouth, scooting just a hair closer, until their knees knocked together through the thin fabric of their sleeping clothes.

Ashe was sure that he was crimson by now, but also that he was happier than he could remember being. Happy that his most pressing concern was his morning breath, that he could wake up to Dedue looking like _this_ and it was real, not something out of a dream.

He wanted to stay that way forever - or at least, for as long as he could manage. He wanted Dedue to know.

“Dedue, I…”

Being in Dedue’s arms last night felt like it couldn’t possibly be real. Waking up to him now felt like he was still in a dream somehow, as if the recollection of their dance that he’d been nursing for all of these years had finally continued the way he wanted it to and not the way he regretted.

Ashe’s fingers tangled in Dedue’s, Dedue squeezed at them to offer some kind of support.

“...I didn’t say how I felt last time and I’ve regretted it ever since,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I - I never should have pulled away from you that night… I’ve never forgiven myself for it.”

Slowly, Dedue let go of Ashe’s hand, reached up to stroke at his hair, to brush it back the same way he did when they were in front of the library. Affectionate. Soft.

“I should have gone after you. It took all of my courage to ask you in the first place… when you turned away, I had none left to ask you to stay.”

It broke his heart, to know that they had been so close to this, so close to the truth _so_ long ago. It broke his heart to know that he couldn’t go back to fix it, he couldn’t turn back to Dedue and fall back into his arms then.

Ashe tilted his head into the warmth of his fingers and took a deep breath.

“I love you.”

It felt like jumping, like loosing an arrow into the back of a beast. It felt like wind on his face and uncertainty ahead but he had nothing if he didn’t have his heart, and when Dedue didn’t answer straight away, he continued.

“I’ve loved you since we were teenagers at the academy. I didn’t know it then, but every thought I had, every road I took… it took me back to you. Your cooking, your plants, your needlework… you were perfect. I should have told you before. I should have told you after you came back. I should have finished our dance. I should have - “

Dedue kissed him.

As timing went, Ashe thought that it should have come sooner: before the love confession, before they got into bed together, before he almost died.

As _kisses_ went, it was the single most wonderful thing he’d felt in his entire life.

Dedue’s lips touched his and he felt aflame, burning suddenly with the need to kiss him again and again and again until there was no more breath left in them - and then to pull back, breathe, and go right back to kissing. It was everything that Ashe dared to dream it could be and more because it was _real_ , because Dedue’s lips were slightly chapped, because his jaw still ached from bruising where he’d been kicked, because there was a piece of Dedue’s hair stuck between their mouths. The imperfections made it real, made it more perfect than any dream he could have ever had of this moment.

When Dedue pulled away, Ashe pushed back after him as if by instinct, chasing his scent, his warmth. Then Dedue’s hand was on his jaw again, tender with his bruises, and he tilted Ashe’s face up so their eyes could meet.

“I love you too.” Ashe’s heart sang, his eyes suddenly swelling with tears, and Dedue smiled sadly at him, thumb brushing idly against his cheek, “I thought that I had to dismiss my feelings, but they never fully went away. I had my future and you had yours, but I never stopped feeling this way about you. I don’t know what my future holds, Ashe… but I’d like you to be in it.”

Ashe nodded, agreeing - he’d agree to anything right now, but he didn’t care. He’d give it all up to wake up like this every morning, with Dedue’s arms around him, Dedue’s eyes on him, Dedue’s mouth on him… he’d give anything.

“I’m yours,” he promised, “forever.”

Dedue kissed him again, sweet and soft.

“No more secrets,” he said, an ultimatum. Ashe felt a flash of guilt and hummed in agreement, reaching for Dedue’s fingers again.

A conflict in loyalty was a bad idea. If the king’s spymaster had any loyalties other than to the realm, to the king himself, it could spell disaster for everyone. Ashe knew this, in his rational mind he was already railing against it, considering the part of himself he’d have to kill to reject Dedue’s terms, shore up his heart, and walk away.

He couldn’t. It was impossible.

“...no more secrets,” Ashe promised quietly, looking away.

Dedue kissed his cheek, his jaw, and pulled backward in order to sit up in the bed. Outside of the bed was - the rest of the world. The dark magic lurking under the town, the abductions, the deaths that had already been caused. Ashe resisted the urge to pull the blankets over his head and continue pretending it away, instead sighing and heaving himself up alongside Dedue.

They were still there to do a job. Outside this bed, that job was the most important thing to both of them. Ashe could feel it seeping into his shoulders, watched the weight of it overtake Dedue as the other man moved to stand.

This had to end sometime. At least he knew now, how Dedue felt - and Dedue knew his own heart.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dedue finally said, stretching, and Ashe was hypnotized for a moment by the way his back shifted, the muscles in his hips twisting with his movements. Dedue continued speaking, but Ashe didn’t hear him.

“Ashe?”

He blinked.

“I’m sorry - what was that?”

Dedue couldn’t help but to crack a smile there and moved back for the chest so that he could collect a few more articles of clothing.

“I thought this morning about our next plan of action. We need to find out _where_ they are. Unfortunately, we don’t have many leads on that - which means that we need to canvas all the high profile areas where we knew they had activity.”

Ashe nodded, pushing the blankets down and swinging his legs to stand.

“That is,” Dedue continued, concern bleeding into his tone, “if you’re feeling up to it. If your injuries still bother you, I can summon a few soldiers and do it myself.”

Ashe closed his fist, tensing as his arm protested. The pain was bearable. This was his bow arm, which in a way was good - drawing the bowstring took a smoother motion with more controlled strength, which would be easier with his uninjured arm. He wasn’t going to shoot his best for quite some time, but he thought that maybe he could pull a smaller bow if he had to.

“Of course I am. I’m not going to let you go in there by yourself.” Ashe offered Dedue a smile that he didn’t quite feel and slipped out of the bed, careful to bunch up the excess fabric of his pants around his waist to that they didn’t simply slip down to his ankles.

Dedue tugged out a change of clothes for himself and a smaller set of clothing, which he offered to Ashe. It was simple, a rich blue tunic and thick pants to go under it, but it would fit, which served his purposes just fine.

Most of Ashe’s belongings, as well as his horse, were still in the inn he’d stayed at before the attack. Ashe hoped that the innkeeper hadn’t thrown out his things or sold his horse when he didn’t return - though maybe Dedue took care of that. Dedue was always taking care of things.

The two of them changed quickly, but exchanged looks throughout the process. Ashe pretended that he didn’t notice Dedue’s wandering eyes and Dedue dutifully did the same. _Someday._

As Ashe was buckling up a spare belt, he felt Dedue’s presence and glanced behind him as Dedue set a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“...do you have other spies in Duscur?”

His voice was quiet, contemplative, and Ashe knew that the question wasn’t asked easily. It still hurt, reminded him of what he’d done, and he turned to reach for Dedue’s hand.

“No. Just the one. I used him to keep an eye on trade routes… things that were coming into Fódlan. Never anything about you, or what you were doing. I wouldn’t -”

“Ashe, it’s…” Dedue cut him off but then didn’t seem to be able to finish his own sentence, to tell Ashe that it was alright. It wasn’t, but the sting would lessen with time. “...I was asking because we need information. If you had other spies here, perhaps they’d know something.”

Oh.

He shook his head then, though he wasn’t sorry to disappoint in this aspect.

“I don’t.”

“Alright.” Dedue sighed, “then it seems our biggest areas of concern are the port, the library, and the spy’s house.”

Ashe closed his eyes and softly corrected: “Del.”

“...right. Del’s house.” Dedue frowned. “I’ll summon a small group of fighters and we can go through them all. The port will take awhile to search. I’d suggest splitting up, but -”

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” Ashe spoke out, insistent. Dedue finally smiled again, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Yes, that. I don’t want you out of mine either. Plus, you might see some things I overlook. We’ll do it together, even if it takes longer.”

It was settled then.

-

First, Ashe lead Dedue to the location of where he’d killed the assassin, but other than the broken window and the dark stain of blood on the windowsill and congealed into the dirt of the ground, there was no evidence that there’d ever been a body there. _Someone_ had found it and taken it away - his assailants most likely, which meant that they knew that Ashe escaped and that he had killed one of their own.

Then they went back to Del’s house. Dedue’s men had cleaned it up after Ashe went through, and so the body was gone but the _smell_ persisted, despite the windows being left open to try and air out the house. They’d tried to clean up the blood as well, but it stained into the wood beneath where he was left. The flooring would need to be replaced before anyone else could consider living here.

The neighbors reported hearing nothing, which wasn’t surprising. Ashe looked again through the bookshelf with the false backing, then looked through every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen, but found nothing else.

With no new leads, they began the long task of searching through the docks. The dockmaster was gone, but they were given access to his office at the very least. Ashe moved through stack after stack of papers while Dedue’s men searched the various storage areas for anything out of the ordinary, but there was nothing. No records.

Ashe flagged down one of the dock workers - a heavyset woman with close-cropped white hair, who seemed apprehensive of him at first until she saw Dedue standing nearby.

“Hi - what’s your name?” he asked, and her eyes flicked up toward Dedue, who nodded in reassurance.

“...Mia,” she finally offered, “Miadora.”

“Miadora,” Ashe confirmed with a small smile, “one of the other workers mentioned that you’re here pretty often.”

She nodded, a sharp jerk of her chin. “My brother’s sick. Picking up the men’s shifts gets me more money for his medicine.”

He felt a slight pang of sympathy in his heart but proceeded nevertheless, offering her the folder in his hand. She took it but didn’t look at the papers quite yet, her eyes still sharply on his - confused, but not openly hostile.

“This is the manifesto of every trade ship that’s come through here. After the dockmaster’s disappearance, this was kept up by a man named Kree. I was curious to see if the pages matched your memory.”

Ashe had chosen well - her lip curled at the mention of Kree. He had seemed slimy when Ashe spoke with him last, overly familiar with him despite the two of them never meeting before, his eyes lingering a moment too long, as if to say, _and now…?_

According to one of Del’s older reports, Ashe recalled, Kree was known for taking bribes under the table for getting a few extra items on the ships. Nothing too illicit, nothing that they’d need to step in for, but untrustworthy nevertheless.

Miadora, by contrast, seemed honorable. Brusque maybe, and as she pieced through the first page, it was clear that she was a particularly slow reader - but honest.

“Hm… maybe I’m not reading this right,” she offered charitably, and Dedue moved closer to her so that he could look at the manifesto over her shoulder.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“This is… all these ships were ones we got on this date, right?” She asked, and Dedue nodded, “And the next page is the next date… then yes, there’s one missing. A boat that came in. Maybe it’s on a different page.”

She looked through the pages and Ashe quickly met Dedue’s eyes from over her shoulder, his expression one of surprise - after so long with no leads, he was beginning to think that there was nothing anywhere. But now, this…

“If it came in on that date, it should be on that page,” Dedue told her gently, and Miadora nodded. Ashe pretended not to notice the embarrassed flush in her cheeks when she flipped back to the original place she’d first noted the discrepancy. “Can you tell us about the boat?”

She looked through one more time before handing the papers back to Ashe with a heavy sigh.

“It came late at night. Flag was Sreng - we get flint and furs from them, but they don’t trade with Faerghus, and they say we can’t give Faerghus what they give us.”

Ashe was aware of that trade deal via Del’s intel - it wasn’t a problem. Dimitri would be pleased that Duscur was making allies outside of Fódlan, even if those allies posed a mild threat to Faerghus. 

It worked out well enough for Ashe’s purposes too: if Sreng and Duscur became close allies, then Duscur would be an insulation between Sreng and Fódlan, dissuading Sreng from any further invasion attempts. It was in everyone’s best interests.

“So we don’t get many ships from them,” she continued, “that’s why I remember it. It was weird that we got one then. We unloaded boxes to one of the warehouses. A few hours later, someone came and had us move the boxes to horse transport and they left.”

“Do you know what was in the boxes?” Ashe asked softly, and Mia shook her head.

“Not flints and furs. I lifted one that was really light - like blankets inside. The others were too heavy, we had to get them in pairs. Sounded like metal was inside, like I was trying to lift a hundred of those nice silver serving trays all at once. They yelled at us to be careful, so maybe it was breakable. I’m not sure.”

“That’s very helpful,” Dedue said in that sincere way of his and she smiled at him, flattered and pleased to be of help to someone like him.

Someone a ways off called out to them - to her, shouting her name, and Miadora turned, raising her arm up in a wave.

“I’ve got to help this boat. Is that all you need to know?”

Dedue nodded and she turned to go, leaving Ashe feeling like _finally_ , they were onto something. Dedue seemed to think so too, because he lifted his hand to flag back the soldiers that had been moving through the port in search.

“We still don’t know where the boxes went,” Ashe pointed out, frowning, “they could have transported them anywhere by now.”

“Not anywhere,” Dedue murmurs, thinking. “They had to get rid of the dockmaster so he wouldn’t notice the shipment. They bribed Kree, but had to use our own workers to load it up. They’re shorthanded and they don’t have the resources to make cargo like that disappear.”

Ashe’s mind worked quickly, following Dedue’s train of thought.

“So they have to make people disappear instead.”

“Mmhm.”

He understood now. Ashe slowly began to walk alongside Dedue as they left the docks, mulling over the new information. Something light and something very heavy - well, there was no telling what those things could be, but if these people wanted it then it couldn’t be good.

“We’ll need to look over where the disappeared people might have had access to. Storage areas or warehouses… anywhere you could hold cargo like that.” Ashe shook his head. “We have to assume they know we’re onto them. By now, they’ll know I’m alive and that I went to you.”

Dedue nodded, his fingers tightening by his side. Ashe longed to reach out and touch his hand, to twine their fingers together… but he didn’t know how much he was allowed. If Dedue wanted to keep their affections secret.

It probably wasn’t appropriate in front of their soldiers anyway.

-

Stopping back in front of the library was like stepping back in time. Before he found out about Del - before _Dedue_ found out about Del - before he was attacked.

Before they kissed.

Ashe supposed that he was better off now than he was those few days ago. That he’d take the good with the bad, if it meant that Dedue would kiss him again.

The library was just as dark and dusty as it was when they’d left it, though there were even fewer people inside. Ashe couldn’t blame them, it was a lovely day out and it was only natural to want to bask in the sunlight. It also meant that fewer people noticed as a small battalion of soldiers followed them inside, stood attentive while they poked through the various aisles.

“...can I help you?”

The attendant was younger this time, a man with a dark complexion and a suspicious glare as he looked over the armed guards behind them, undoubtedly annoyed at the mud and dust they’d managed to track in.

“We were, um, looking after reports of a disappearance,” Ashe piped up, doing his best to look apologetic, “there was an older woman here… we spoke with her a few days ago.”

“You’re wasting your time,” the librarian responded, brusque, “Addie’ll come back. She always does.”

“You mean - this has happened before?”

He shrugged. “First time was about a year ago. She came back after a couple weeks. A few times since then. I just figure she loses track of time and is too proud to admit it when she comes back. Old people, you know. Don’t know who reported her as missing, but they were overreacting.”

Ashe looked at Dedue, only to find that Dedue was looking back at him.

Missing for weeks. Missing in gaps since then. They’d spoken to her just a few days ago. Been right here in this room, face to face with her. Ashe smelled incense, but that was - women her age liked incense, right?

She knew where Del lived. She knew where Ashe would be after investigating the house.

“Y - you said…” Ashe started, working out the words, “her name is Addie?”

“Adelaide. Addie.”

“We’re going to look around,” Dedue finally cut in, his tone severe, the kind of tone that did not offer a chance to argue, “Is there anywhere she went regularly?”

The librarian shrugged, confused at their sudden seriousness. “No. She’s _old_. She barely does any work around here - just hangs around the bookshelves eavesdropping on people. Half the time I can’t even find her in the library. _Missing_ , honestly… she’s probably gotten lost back in the mathematics section.”

Useless. Ashe and Dedue moved on, searching through the ground floor of the library with their soldiers behind them. By now, most of the residents who were in the library innocently had left, likely due to all the soldiers and commotion they were making with their search.

Not Ashe’s preferred method of doing things, but he couldn’t deny that it was comforting to have men and women with them at all times in case they were attacked. Given their enemy’s ability to simply send thugs after them in midair, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance, but that _did_ mean that all traces of subtlety went out the window.

Eventually, Ashe had them wait in the common area so that he could search without them breathing down his neck. He moved through the mathematics section as the librarian had snidely mentioned it and found nothing out of the sort. Having grown oddly familiar with how things could be _hidden_ , Ashe searched carefully, ensuring that the bookshelves were moved away from the walls, the rugs covered the floor entirely, that there were no secret doors or hidden areas locked away from them.

It was slow going. Ashe was better at this sort of thing than Dedue and so he moved faster through his part of the library, fingers sliding across carpeting, pulling books from the shelves, before moving for a narrow hallway that looked more like an employee corridor than a space for the public.

“That’s Addie’s room,” the librarian offered, choosing _now_ to be helpful after tutting over how they were misarranging the books for the last hour, “she’s the head, so she gets the - I think it’s an office. I’ve never been in there.”

Ashe tried the door.

“It’s locked,” the librarian murmured, unhelpfully, “always.”

Ashe grumbled under his breath while Dedue gently excused the man, moving up behind Ashe and offering him a reassuring hand, pressed against the small of his back. The warmth of it forced Ashe into a gentle relaxation and he sighed softly, reaching for his belt with his toolkit.

The lock was more complex than the one to Del’s front door and it took Ashe longer to get it open. He felt, as always, embarrassed of his talent here, as if Dedue would somehow look down on him for having this sort of skill.

Dedue never did though. He simply squeezed Ashe’s shoulder in pride when the handle of the door clicked and Ashe was able to open it.

The office was not an office at all, but rather a stairwell that descended down into the shadows of a basement. Ashe glanced back toward Dedue, who moved to step in ahead of him, protective even in these fraught moments.

The soldiers behind them shifted restlessly but followed them down as Ashe descended the staircase after Dedue, his heart thudding in his chest.

It smelled of dust and some kind of sharp fragrance that irritated his nostrils. Ashe’s nose wrinkled as they made their way blindly down the steps until Dedue found an unlit lantern and shifted to light it, holding it above their heads so that they could survey the room.

The first thing to take their immediate attention was the body. It was a larger man, propped up to sit in a wooden chair. He was dead - that much was immediately obvious by the pale color of his face, the few flies buzzing around his mouth and eyes. His face was squashed, familiar, and Ashe’s stomach dropped when he realized where he knew him from.

He was the leader of the men who had tried to kill him. And -

\- he was dressed in the uniform of a Kingdom soldier.

“Faerghus is behind this?” One of the soldiers swore under her breath and Dedue raised a hand to calm her, moving hesitantly toward the corpse, taking care not to disturb the pentacle on the floor.

It looked as if it was drawn in blood or some other liquid that had dried to cracking. The circle was intricately designed, with words in a language Ashe didn’t understand tangled into the design, clearly made for magic.

Just to be sure, Dedue checked the man’s pulse and shook his head quietly in an affirmation that he was dead.

“He was… one of the assassins that got sent after me,” Ashe said, barely a whisper, “he’s not a soldier. I don’t understand…”

His eyes fell to the box next to the chair. It was a large crate, one that could almost be mistaken for furniture at just a glance. Ashe moved closer to it and put his hands on the edges, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pushed it.

Dedue curiously moved over and tried the same - he was able to get it to slide across the floor, but not without effort. When it moved, there was a soft sound from inside, something metallic.

“Open it,” Dedue told the soldiers, who moved forward with their weapons to pry the wooden panels off of the crate. Once they fell aside, straw padding fell with them, leaving…

Well, Ashe didn’t know _what_ it was.

The object was large and made out of a beaten metal, molded to form a boxy shape, about two feet tall. Ashe could not find any seam or opening to it despite tracing his fingers all the way around the back.

On the top of the object was a small hairline crack in the shape of a square. Ashe tilted his head and inspected it closer, his small fingers tracing along the edges of the square. When he touched his hand to the middle, he felt it _give_ and he pressed down a little more, breath nearly held.

It moved.

Ashe jerked his hand back, startled as the panel slid downward and then back, disappearing into the object.

“Careful,” Dedue warned, his breath wavering in the air next to him.

In place of the square, a metal box slowly rose upward until it rested as a protrusion above the object. Unlike the beaten steel of the larger box, the metal of this piece was shiny and smooth, crafted with a careful hand. There were etchings covering the metal, inlaid into the steel in circular patterns that matched the circle on the ground beneath them.

Ashe looked back down at the ground as dread coiled in his gut.

“What is it?” one of the soldiers asked. Ashe took a step back and then another, taking in the entire scene before him.

A thought entered his mind, though it was more like a memory - of a darkened tent, letters in his hand as Rodrigue waited to make the call on riding south for Claude’s army. Reports about what happened to Fort Merceus after Claude’s siege.

And then another memory, another report: one from Claude’s victory in Shambhala. That one detailed the underground fortress belonging to Those Who Slither, with rough drawings on the parchment which copied the etched patterns in the steel of the cavern. Magic flowed through the inlaid marks, the report stated, lighting up the ground. Magic which brought giant mechanical beings to life and created -

“...javelins of light,” he whispered, taking another step back. He felt as if his chest was too tight, like his next breath was a struggle and so were the words his mouth formed, barely audible in the silent room.

“This is going to destroy half the town.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean actually though how does one describe a magical bomb when your PoV is a character who doesn’t know what any kind of modern tech looks like… well, in case anyone was confused, that’s what it is. Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe and Dedue find the shadowy group behind the attacks and try to stop them before they consume the continent in another war.

They knew three things: these devices were destructive, there were more devices than just this one, and that the circle on the ground functioned as a kind of conduit, which would summon magical energy and activate the explosion from a remote area.

The last piece of information came from a magical scholar. While Duscur was not a country practiced in magic, there were still those curious enough about it to research the inner workings of spells and diagrams necessary to make them work.

After they had cleared the room and had a debate on whether or not to move the device (they could set it off on accident, Dedue reasoned, and so it stayed where it was), they’d brought in the best - well, the _only_ \- magical researcher in Batüm: a younger woman who had sailed in from another land some time ago, who was mildly infamous for paying her bar tabs with palm readings.

It was the best option they had. Luckily, she had been able to read the circle enough to tell them that it was what she called a _destination_ circle, something that would light up with energy once the _origin_ circle was ignited from… well, wherever it was.

“It can’t be that far away,” she reasoned thoughtfully, “it has to be within a set distance or the conduit would be too weak. Mages used to use stuff like this to communicate, ‘til they figured out that a messenger would work just as well.”

With that, they had set to work. Dedue laid out a map of the entire city over the town hall with trembling hands that Ashe longed to touch and hold until they went still. He wanted to kiss him calm, to reassure him that they would figure this out, but the truth was, he didn’t know.

They circled on the map everything obvious: from the dock, to the library, and then smaller circles around where everyone had gone missing. Dedue pinned the map in places that the missing people would have had access to and they sent out teams to search.

They found three more devices.

There were more, both Ashe and Dedue were sure of it, but finding the bombs was useless if they could not prevent them from going off. Every second they spent in the town felt like hours, until Dedue finally rested his head in his hands late into the night, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“We need to evacuate the city,” he finally said.

Ashe moved over to him, touched at his shoulder and leaned in to embrace him.

“We’ll keep looking,” he whispered. It was all that he knew to say, because he knew that Dedue was a smart man and he knew that Dedue would figure out that -

“...they’ll know if we start moving people. They could set it off early and - it would be our fault. My fault.”

“It’s not,” Ashe said, soft, his hands stroking down the length of Dedue’s back, “it’s no one’s fault but theirs. We’ll find it. I’ll search the entire city if I have to.”

“You must be tired. You’re still hurt - let me see your wounds.”

Ashe shook his head, refusing to let Dedue change the subject, to go back to caring for him when they both knew that it was insignificant in the face of everything he stood to lose.

“I sent out three ravens earlier,” he told him, his fingers tracing over the bandages, “one to Annette, one to Dimitri, and one to my closest spy. She’ll investigate as well.”

“I fear we don’t have time for any of them to make it here.”

And Ashe didn’t know what to do, what to say - how could he give Dedue platitudes when he was suffering so much? How could he give him anything but honesty?

“I’m afraid of that too,” he whispered.

-

The message came late that night, hours after Ashe first realized that he would die here if it meant working until his final moment to stop this.

It was a steadying thought, one that was oddly calming - to spend his last day, his last hour, his last minute trying to help people… well, it was the sort of thing that stories were written about. Ashe did not want his life to become a tragedy, but he supposed that if that was what it came down to then he would rather have that then to leave and protect himself.

The knock at Dedue’s door was loud and booming and Ashe jerked awake from where he’d been dozing at the desk, looking over the city map until he felt as if he could retrace it from memory.

Dedue rose as well and went to answer the door while Ashe watched from over his shoulder. The caller was a man, who looked just as exhausted as they were. Ashe knew that Dedue employed many in his service and recognized this man as one of the others that had been helping them to locate where the cult had been operating.

“My lord,” he gasped, out of breath, “I came here as quickly as I could.”

“What is it?” Dedue asked, reaching out to calm him, “I’ve got you.”

He took in another deep breath before continuing, “A trader and his hirelings have gone missing. He was supposed to leave the inn earlier this afternoon, but the innkeep hadn’t heard from him. When they investigated his rooms, they found everything as it was, but… he was gone.”

Another trader? Ashe perked up at that, rising and moving around the desk so that he could move closer to Dedue.

“Where was he from?”

“Dagda, my lord.” And then his eyes lifted until he met Dedue’s, the urgency of his visit explained at last: “Bulk goods.”

Bulk…? Traders with many or large items didn’t often stay at inns, they had entire caravans of animals and a few various workers under them. They normally pitched a tent and slept outside the city. For a trader to stay here, it meant that he was wealthy - wealthy enough to store his supplies somewhere in between travels. And supplies that large would need to be stored in a larger location.

“Were any of his men found?” Ashe asked quickly, and the messenger shook his head, moving past them and into the room.

“No. They’re all gone too. But we know where they kept their supplies.”

He was at the map now and he turned it toward him, searching for familiar landmarks, going through the various streets of the city before he pointed at a small cluster of buildings on the map.

“Here. A warehouse. Traders are assigned use of these based on when they arrive and how much space they need. He was planning on staying in Duscur awhile and selling in the market, so he needed a lot of space to store his goods.”

“Have we searched this block yet?” Dedue asked and Ashe shook his head.

“The trader who went missing a few days ago - the one you told me about… he may have been using this area for storage as well.” It didn’t necessarily mean much. It didn’t mean that they’d find anything, save for another device, another threat, but…

Ashe tilted his head at the map, thinking of what the magical scholar had said. _It has to be within a set distance or the conduit would be too weak_.

“...this block is central to all the other devices we’ve found,” he said quietly and Dedue looked up, tracing over the invisible lines, “look - the devices were closer to the outskirts… this is the only location that’s near the city center, where it could reach them all.”

Dedue nodded, his jaw set tight.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” He straightened and then addressed his man next, with a sense of urgent power that Ashe had rarely seen from him, “go rouse the battalions. We’ll meet there in an hour’s time.”

He nodded and went, leaving Ashe and Dedue alone in the room again.

Ashe looked at him and loved him so much it hurt, and he wanted him to be okay, wanted this to turn out alright - he’d give anything to protect Dedue and by proxy Duscur, would give anything to ensure that whatever this dark cult was planning did not come to fruition, and if that meant fighting again, picking up a bow and risking his life… then he’d do it.

There was nothing he _wouldn’t_ do, if it would only relieve some of the tension clinging to Dedue’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to come,” Dedue told him quietly, even as Ashe followed him back into the bedroom, where he opened the closet containing his weapon rack. He paused there, deliberating over which to take, and he wasn’t looking at Ashe.

Ashe moved behind him then, wrapped his arms around Dedue’s waist, pressed his face into his back and inhaled the rich, earthy scent of him. His touch grew a stillness within Dedue and Ashe clung tighter, desperately wanting to nurture that calm in him like a flower, to keep it safe, no matter what would happen in the next few hours.

“Of course I’m coming,” he murmured against Dedue’s back, holding him tighter, “I’m going to see this through. With you.”

Dedue turned in his grip until he was facing Ashe, his expression softened, weaker than it had been a few moments ago. Ashe couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in his mind - the memories he had to be reliving, the _need_ he must have felt to stop this however he could so that the past did not repeat again.

Strong fingers were at his jaw tilting his chin upward, and Ashe leaned up on his tiptoes for Dedue’s kiss.

It was passionate, it warmed him from his mouth to his toes, and through it Ashe thought - _anything is possible_. If he had to, he would strike down the goddess herself to keep Dedue in his arms like this.

“I have a bow,” Dedue offered, mumbling it into his mouth after they parted, and Ashe nodded, reasserting himself and moving for his things.

The bow was large, larger than most of the weaponry that Ashe had dealt with, but he’d be able to draw it when needed. His arm was still injured, but with a splint he could still hold it steady enough to be accurate.

Dedue took an axe, dressed quickly in light leather armor - all he had on hand, as his sturdier armor was back home in Cadon - and Ashe gathered his cloak about him.

Ashe knew that they had to be prepared for anything. Reading Claude’s reports of Shambhala, it seemed that there was no limit to what these people could do. Ashe knew that they were walking into the unknown, but they had no other choice.

They left the town hall a few moments later and Ashe wished he had just a little more time to hold Dedue’s hand again.

But that time was past, like all the times before it, and it was all he could do to move forward into the night.

-

The warehouse was unassuming and it loomed large against the horizon. Ashe hadn’t been to this part of town before but it was bare, industrial, clearly a space made for storage and equipment. There was a stable nearby that housed the animals responsible for bringing in the caravan, but the building was silent in the late evening.

The battalions around them looked warily up at the dark building, their weapons at the ready but Ashe saw no scouts out here, which left... the lock.

For the third time in a week, Ashe crouched down, sighing as he got to work picking the lock. It opened in his hands easily enough, and Dedue placed a warm hand on his shoulder when he was done.

“I’ll go first.”

He wanted to argue but Ashe could only nod, understanding Dedue’s need to put himself on the front lines, even if it worried him to see it. His heart wavered as Dedue opened the door with a mighty _creak_ and lifted his lantern high before taking the first step inside.

Ashe followed him quickly and the rest of the soldiers filed in one by one. Inside of the warehouse there were long aisles of shelving, stacked with various equipment and items, but the room was enormous and Ashe could see that there was a fragment of light seeping in from between the cracks of the shelving.

“Stay back!”

The voice cried out from the darkness and Dedue lifted his lantern to see a younger man, no older than twenty, his fingers trembling on the bow that he held.

A bow which was aimed right at them.

“Come no closer. _Lady Adelaide_!” The name was cried out, as if alerting someone and Dedue grit his teeth, “ _they’re here! They’ve come!_ ”

Ashe wanted to reach for his own bow, but was wary of the nocked arrow, concerned that if he went for a weapon, the young man would let it fly into Dedue’s throat.

“...do you know what she is?” Ashe asked him softly and he shook his head as footsteps echoed down the lines of shelving.

“Don’t care. She’ll give me my dad’s farm back.”

Something about it - whether it was the innocence, the purposeful obliviousness, or the youth of the man - made Ashe’s blood boil and he took a heavy step forward, his brows drawn together.

The bow shifted, moving from Dedue to Ashe. Ashe could feel Dedue’s concern spilling over next to him, but he didn’t care.

“It was never your land to begin with. You - your father - took it in blood. You should be _grateful_ that all you got was a slap on the wrist and a relocation!”

It was, abruptly, not the right thing to say. The man’s eyes hardened and his fingers let _go_.

Dedue reached for him, sensing the loss of control from the watchman, and shoved Ashe’s shoulder, pushing him aside for the arrow to fly harmlessly past him and glance off the plate of a soldier’s armor behind him.

The boy quickly moved to pull another arrow, but they were already moving, overtaking him quickly. He backed up, his eyes going wide with fear as he moved back and back, into the shadows - until he stopped moving.

“That will be all from you,” the woman behind him - _Adelaide_ , Ashe recognized suddenly - said, her voice deeper than he remembered, her face smoother, her hair braided into a crown around her head - a crown which had various thorns and blackened spikes rising from it, giving her the appearance of a deadened queen.

Her eyes were a pure black. She had a tattoo of a third eye on the center of her forehead, but when Ashe looked at it, he found that it looked back at him.

She stood taller than Dedue.

Her hand clutched at the boy’s back, fingers bunching in the fabric. Something happened - something dark and powerful that made Ashe’s knees feel weak and his nose burn with a scent that was sharp and metallic - and the watchman’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head as his spine arched, his mouth hanging open.

He looked possessed almost, dangling like a puppet as his skin withered and turned into a mottled gray. Ashe realized suddenly that they were watching him die, and when he slumped to the floor, the bone-white tint of Adelaide’s skin looked just a touch pinker.

It was her. The librarian, the woman that they’d met days before. Recognition lit in her face and she smiled, her teeth too sharp, too many.

“You’ve come to see the end,” she said, delighted, seemingly uncaring of the arrows that were now aimed at her from their battalions, “how charming. We left witnesses last time… I won’t make the mistake my elders made then.”

“- Lady Adelaide!”

It was a woman’s voice this time, another woman who stepped from the shadows with more men at her back: mercenaries, dressed similarly to the men who had tried to kill Ashe. This woman was shorter, with nut-brown hair that curled around her ears and small green eyes pressed too far back into her skull.

She seemed breathless, and when she looked over the intruders, her beady eyes narrowed toward Dedue.

“ _You_.”

“I’m dealing with them,” Adelaide told her, waving her off with a brush of her hand, “don’t get worked up.”

“You need to save your power. I’ll handle them. You - ” there was a pause as she noticed the corpse on the floor and frowned, putting two and two together, “- you killed Beru.”

Adelaide merely shrugged. The woman shook her head of it and stepped forward again, her hand on the hilt of her sword, her eyes lifting back up to Dedue.

“You took everything from me,” she accused. “It’s only right that I do the same to you now.”

Dedue watched her for a moment and Ashe felt rage in his chest again, but when Dedue spoke, his words were soft, calm - how could he stay so calm?

“I don’t know you.”

She snarled in frustration, drawing her blade.

“I’m the second daughter of Alistair Kleiman and the rightful ruler of this land, since my father and brother were both _hanged_ by their bastard of a king. My name is Marigold - you will take that name into the eternal flames when I kill you.”

Dedue drew his axe and the battalions crept forward. Ashe watched as Adelaide stepped back, covered by more men and women who pushed their way out of the shadows.

They had weapons on them but none of them were uniformed soldiers. As he looked over the faces of each one, some of them looked less than thrilled to be there, fighting and Ashe remembered - _they’re farmers, displaced commonfolk, rallied to her banner_.

Still, their own battalions weren’t exactly trained soldiers either. Most of them were former mercenaries who had to find their own work as sellswords after Duscur fell, who returned when Dedue raised the banners once more. They didn’t know much about marching in formation but they could _fight_ , and Ashe knew that he would fight alongside them.

“We can’t let Adelaide get away,” Ashe whispered and Dedue nodded, watching as the old woman disappeared in the shadows of the warehouse.

“I’ll open a path for you,” he said, reaching out to brush his fingers along Ashe’s wrist, “Slip through, get her.”

Ashe wanted to remember that feeling. The brush against his wrist was warm and clammy from Dedue’s sweaty hands and he thought - _is this the last time he touches me? Is this the last time I feel anything at all?_

But there wasn’t time for such thoughts. There wasn’t time for anything but the act of it.

Dedue roared, pressing forward with his men on his heels and _crashing_ into Marigold’s militia, opening the fight into throes of chaos already. Between his axe and the swords of the men and women behind them, Ashe found it easier to dart into the shadows and slip away, easier to escape notice when everyone around him was fighting for their lives.

He pushed on through the warehouse, praying for Dedue’s safety as he raced down the darkened pathways, barely able to see anything at all, save for the ground in front of him - and then, a faint glow.

Screams rattled out from the front entrance, where the fighting was beginning to claim its first victims. Ashe longed to turn back, to try and protect Dedue, but he knew that if he failed here, Dedue would be beyond saving again. He had to trust Dedue’s prowess - and his own abilities - if they were to both make it out of this alive.

The glow rounded out to be that same magical light, coursing through the engraved steel of the pillars of the warehouse. Ashe followed the light to Adelaide’s fingers, pressed against the columns, and he saw before him the pentacle that stretched across the wide flooring of this section of the warehouse.

This magical circle was bigger than the others he’d seen. There were no devices here. It could be nothing but the origin circle, the source that would ignite all the others if Adelaide activated it.

“Stop!” He called out, raising his bow and aiming it toward her back. She turned her face back toward him, her blackened eyes glimmering in the dim light of the building. “I won’t let you do this.”

Adelaide tilted her head and Ashe could feel the thrum of magic in his teeth again, the hair at the back of his neck standing at attention.

“The only thing that can bring Agartha back is blood,” she told him, and there was no joy in her eyes anymore, “the first time, we were too short-sighted. We created a weapon… but weapons can be broken. This time, I will create a God.”

Ashe loosed the arrow.

It flew from his bow, flying true - but stopped in midair inches from her torso, as if hung on an invisible string. Ashe balked, reaching for his quiver behind him for another arrow to re-nock his bow, as if that could help.

“My true name is _Periander_ ,” she told him and Ashe watched as the suspended arrow slowly turned until its sharp point was facing him, “and I will stop at nothing to raise my people from the dead.”

The arrow flew.

Ashe jerked himself away and felt it graze against his cheek, propelled by some mystic force. His momentum sent him stumbling and he scrambled to aim the second arrow at Adelaide - Periander - whatever her name was.

“You’re going to start another war!” he accused, the hot fires of rage rising in him. He felt blood drip from his cheek and aimed at her again. “These people never did anything! You were the ones who hurt them - and then you act like you’re on some noble quest when they defend themselves against you!”

The arrow loosed again, for her throat, but she stopped this one as well. Ashe grit his teeth and reached for his sword instead. He would cut her down if he had to.

“My quest is noble. Filth like you couldn’t begin to understand.”

Bindings lifted themselves up from the earth, black tendrils of magic which lashed for his arms and legs. Ashe rolled away from it, quick and surefooted, but the Banshee spell simply moved faster and tangled in his foot, sending him to the ground before he could reach her. It dragged him back on the floor, despite him trying to stop it, and he kicked at it with his other leg, hacking at it with his blade to try and force it to release him.

“Stop!” he screamed, as she turned back toward the circle. Ashe struggled to stand, to move forward, but every inch was an entire battle. “ _Please_ , I’m begging you - I’ll give you anything, I’ll do anything -”

“Then die.”

Ashe felt a sharpness in his back, a _thud_ as if someone had hit him with a club against his shoulder. He didn’t understand it at first and tried to take another step, not willing to let it deter him, but then he heard Dedue’s cry of anguish from behind him and thought - _I’ve failed_.

Then he heard it again and it wasn’t a scream, but rather it was his name that was being cried out as Dedue caught up with him, bloodied from his fight.

“ _Ashe_!”

His back was wet - maybe that was the spell? But something didn’t feel right now. Ashe looked over his shoulder and saw Dedue maybe twenty feet behind him, his eyes wide. He turned his head further and saw his own arrow, the one that flew past him earlier, embedded in his back.

Oh.

It was as if it wasn’t real until he saw it, like seeing it was what finally made the pain register - and then that was all he felt. Ashe cried out as the pain came in a sickening wave and he stumbled again, though the bindings had released him, leaving nothing between him and the terrible woman, if only he could make it to her.

He coughed and tasted blood. Ashe tightened his grip on his sword and once more tried to stand. His second arrow, the one not currently in his back still hovered threateningly and Ashe knew he couldn’t dodge another one. He took a sluggish step forward, and then another. Ten feet away from his target, but it may as well have been an eternity.

The arrow flew and Ashe squeezed his eyes shut, but the impact never came. He felt no further pain. When he opened his eyes, he saw Periander’s gaze fixed somewhere behind him and he turned.

“...Dedue.”

Dedue hadn’t seen the trick with the flying arrows earlier, wasn’t expecting Periander to shoot this one at him, and so he stood with it embedded in his chest, staring down in muted surprise.

“ _Dedue_!” Ashe said again, a scream this time, and Dedue reached for the arrow, held the shaft of it in his hand, and snapped it like a twig, leaving the head of it still piercing through his skin. The leather of his armor, the bulk of his muscle… it must have been enough to prevent the blow from being fatal, but he still reeled with it, staring down at the injury as blood began to well out and stain at his clothing.

Ashe had no thoughts left in his head. There was only this woman, this vile _creature_ that threatened all of Duscur and then, almost killed Dedue.

He picked himself up, his head hanging low and he lifted his chin just enough to see her turn back to the circle. Ashe grit his teeth, dropped his bow so that he could unsheath his sword, and started running.

Dark tendrils lifted their way off of the ground but Ashe leapt over them, sword at the ready as he slashed at her. Periander hissed and sidestepped, turning away from him and then the ground beneath his feet turned to muck of a Mire spell. No matter. He was lightfooted enough.

Ashe darted inward again, blind to nothing except his desire to protect Dedue, to help him in whatever way he could, and brought his blade down against a barrier of magic. The mud sucked at his feet. Periander hissed and spun to meet him, the back of her hand slamming into his cheek and sending him spinning.

He didn’t care.

Spikes made of shadows lifted their way into the air around him and still, Ashe pressed forward. One of them cut at his shoulder, another slashed into his thigh. He evaded as well as he could until he got another opportunity for another blow, which was deflected. And another. Another.

“ _Die_ , you trash!” She screamed, deflecting his sword once more and raking her nails down the side of his face, dark magic clinging to her hand.

It stung like nothing had ever stung in his life and he smelled the now-familiar scent he’d smelled at Del’s house and in the library basement but he couldn’t stop. He hit the ground again and tried to roll, to reposition, but the arrow in his back halted him and he cried out in pain.

“Finally,” she said, and he could feel the dark magic rise again around him. Ashe curled up, trying to force himself to stand again, to be of any use to Dedue, but he couldn’t. He was done.

But the magic did not descend upon him and tear him to shreds. Again, the blow he was waiting for never came. Ashe slowly uncurled himself and looked up to find an arrow lodged in Periander’s throat - one of his own arrows, from the quiver he’d dropped.

Dedue was holding the bow - his bow, the one that he’d let go of when he reached for his sword. In his blind desire to protect Dedue and give his life in defense of Duscur, Ashe had created the perfect opening.

The witch raised her hands, dark magic flowing from her fingers as she tried to grasp at the arrow, to hurriedly close the wound on herself somehow, but all that spilled forth was blackened blood and loose shadows. She staggered backward, reaching a hand out for the pillar to try and stabilize herself and Ashe saw a weakened pulse of magic light up the glyphs - but that was all.

No explosions rang out. No circles called to one another.

Dedue crashed to his knees next to Ashe, reached to gently pick him up, his hands smoothing back his hair to look at his torn face.

“Ashe,” he whispered, fear in his voice and Ashe smiled weakly, his fingers finally unclenching around his sword and reaching up to brush his fingers along the stubble of Dedue’s jaw.

“You did it,” he told him, pride filling his chest, “you stopped it.” 

Ashe took a deep breath and steeled himself, tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t - the arrow in his back was starting to _hurt_ now, the pain so intense that he thought he might pass out for the second time in a week. He blinked, forced his vision to clear, and groaned as he tried again.

He was bleeding. He could feel it dripping down his face, drenching his left eye badly enough that he had to close it to blink away the sting. His back hurt, the myriad of smaller cuts and bruises he’d received hurt, but Dedue was here. Dedue would finish this.

“ _No!_ ” 

It was a woman’s scream. Ashe could barely see her over Dedue’s shoulder, but as she staggered forward, he saw that she was injured as well, clutching a bleeding wound at her side.

Marigold. The Kleiman woman.

She still clung to her sword but moved for Periander’s corpse, which had now withered and rotted as if it had only been held together in life by her magic.

Dedue looked up at her, tensing, and Ashe nodded to communicate that he would be alright for a moment or so. He couldn’t do anything to help - he didn’t even think that he could stand again, let alone wield any sort of weapon, but Dedue was always a stronger man than him and Dedue could still fight.

“I wanted…” Marigold gasped, forcing herself upright, gripping her blade tighter. Dedue grimaced and reached for his axe once more. “...the Kingdom and Duscur deserve to tear each other apart for what they did to my family. To _me_! I had nothing to do with your damned Tragedy. I just want - my family back!”

There were tears staining her cheeks, mixed with the blood that flowed from a wound on her temple. Ashe tried to move, to help in any way he could, but Dedue knew what to do. He always did.

He raised his hand, the one not holding the axe, in some small attempt to pacify her.

“You contracted with the same cult that caused the Tragedy,” he said, his voice tense but not aggressive, “planned to kill hundreds... planned to start a war that would kill thousands. You did this - for revenge? To avenge the same family that committed these same crimes years ago? You could have walked away. You _should_ have.”

“I…” she started, but then shook her head, ridding herself of weakness, “no. Don’t - don’t pretend to be _better_ than me. Your king, he hung my family out of vengeance! And now, I - I will do the same.”

She moved then, as quickly as she could - which wasn’t very quick, due to her injuries - for the circle and the corpse of the mage. Marigold screamed out in desperation as Dedue rose to stop her and fell to her knees in the center of the circle, her sword skittering out from her grasp. She reached for Periander’s decomposing ankle, hand slipping in the black-red of her blood.

When she spoke again, her words were gibberish. They didn’t even sound like _words_ to Ashe’s ears, but something was happening - the blackened blood began filling out the circle, trickling down each of the previously-drawn lines and illuminating it into a sickeningly red light.

“Dedue, she’s - “

But he knew. Of course he knew. He moved for the circle, for Marigold in the center, and dropped to one knee, reaching for her shoulder to rip her away. She struggled, fought him, but didn’t stop chanting, even as she reached for a dagger with her other hand and flailed out to slash at him with it.

The axe was still in his hands. She wouldn’t stop - as more of the circle illuminated itself, Ashe struggled to move, to help Dedue somehow, and Marigold kept chanting, reciting the same foreign sounds over and over again like some kind of twisted song.

“Dedue,” Ashe cried out, hunching over, trying to drag himself across the floor to be nearer to him, to her, to _help_ , “you have to do it!”

He knew. There wasn’t time for mercy, there wasn’t time for empathy or pity - just this woman, twisted beyond saving, and the need to stop her the only way either of them could anymore.

Dedue brought his axe down, powerful enough to crash through her attempted block with her knife, smashing the blade of it into her smaller body.

The words stopped. The blood began to pool properly again. The circle stopped glowing.

It was over.

Dedue stood over her for a moment. When he brought his hands back, he left the axe embedded in her flesh. He didn’t look like he ever wanted to touch it again.

Ashe’s face was burning with pain now, and he raised up his hand to press against the ripped lines across his cheek, choking back tears. Still, the arrow crowded into his body, inflexible in his back, and he longed for that sweet morning in Dedue’s arms, the early afternoon spent watching him sleep… he closed his good eye and let out a tiny sob.

As if summoned by his tears, Dedue was back at his side, reaching an arm around him, careful of the arrow and the rest of his injuries.

“I’m sorry I had to leave you,” he murmured, and Ashe shook his head, reaching a hand out blindly to bunch in Dedue’s shirt, avoiding his own wound in turn.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t - couldn’t help, I - “ he sniffled, the tears burning at the slashes down his face, and he wanted to bury himself in Dedue’s chest again, but didn’t want to hurt him. “- you had to do it. You had to. I love you so _much_.”

Dedue held him as best he could while they waited for the healers to arrive.

-

The final death toll was close to twenty. From the deaths among Dedue’s soldiers, to the farmers and mercenaries - though some of them cut and ran when it seemed as though they would be killed - to the various poor souls who had gone missing forever, to Del. The first one to send the message which alerted Ashe of what was going on.

It was possible that the message wasn’t needed, that Dedue would have figured it all out on his own - but Ashe liked to think that he’d helped in some small way.

Now, back in Fhirdiad, he focused on detailing out the rest of the report. The final member of the family, the dying remnant of the cult…

After their deaths and after the healers had tended to the worst of their wounds, Dedue had conducted a thorough search of the city, found all of the devices tucked away in basements and empty rooms, and without a way to ensure the destruction of them without setting them off, sank them deep into the sea. Ashe had helped as much as he was able to, happy for any way he could assist after what they'd been through. The work left him in Duscur for the following weeks, and then an extra week after that, which he spent in Dedue’s arms, in Dedue’s bed - his actual bed - with Dedue’s intelligent mouth and his nimble fingers.

Ashe left that part out of the report.

The rest fell into place. He sent Del’s mother a letter, informing her that her son had died saving Duscur and that she would always be welcomed in her home country. He sent his other spies messages, telling them where he’d been.

And then, there was this. The final, encompassing report to his king, which detailed every step of the way, all the things they had discovered and what they had done. Dimitri knew _some_ of it from Ashe’s various letters - but not all put together like this, in an unhurried and easy pace.

When Dimitri glanced over it, Ashe could see his brows lift higher in surprise and shock. Claude, next to him, reached for the papers when he was done and skimmed through them as well, his intelligent eyes darting back and forth across the paper before finally looking up toward Ashe with something like pride brimming over in his expression.

Claude opened his mouth as if to say something and then remembered that they were in Fódlan now, where Dimitri was king, and elbowed his husband to form a response.

“Ah - this… this is... “ Dimitri sputtered, shaking his head in disbelief. “When I got your letter, I was prepared to return to Fhirdiad immediately. Claude said I should trust you… now, I’m glad I did. You’ve done very well, Ashe. I owe you a great deal.”

“I knew you’d be fantastic,” Claude added, “but… wow. You and Dedue saved a lot of people, you know.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

Ashe smiled, but his heart still pounded with anxiety. Behind him, he clutched at another small assortment of papers, papers which would change everything, even more than it had already changed. His mouth felt dry as he stepped forward, bowing in respect.

“There is… one other thing.”

Dimitri tilted his head curiously, looking back up toward Ashe from where he’d been rereading parts of the report.

“What is it?”

Ashe closed his eyes.

-

“I have to go,” he’d said just a week ago, early in the morning light with Dedue’s sheets over his head.

Dedue smiled sadly at him from where he was laying next to him in their small tent of sheets. In here, nothing could hurt them. It was like its own universe where nothing bad could happen, nothing could ache, and no one would ever have to leave.

But.

It was a fantasy. It wasn’t real. He knew that with each day he stayed away from Fhirdiad, his absence would be missed all the more. Who would feed the ravens? Who would listen to the whispers of the servants? Who would tell his spies what to do?

He reached for Dedue’s jaw and Dedue moved to touch him in turn, thumbing over the three thin scars that etched down his cheek and the side of his face ( _”They’re lovely,” he’d said, the first time he caught Ashe staring uncertainly in the mirror, “besides - now we can match.”_ ).

“I didn’t ask you to stay last time,” Dedue murmured, letting his hand drift lower, to Ashe’s collarbone, the rough pads of his thumb tracing the line of his chest, “and I regretted it ever since.”

“Would you -” but the question felt too big, too uncertain. Ashe bit at his lip and took in a deep, wobbling breath. “- would you have me? In Duscur?”

“Darling,” Dedue hushed back without missing a beat, and he slid closer, his arm slipping around Ashe’s shoulders now to pull him close, his thick, powerful thigh hitching up between Ashe’s knees, “I would have you anywhere.”

-

“A… request,” he finally told his king, pulling the other papers from his hand and tentatively offering them out.

“What’s this?” Dimitri asked, and Claude stood on his tiptoes with his hands folded on Dimitri’s shoulder to try and read them.

“My resignation. If you’ll allow it.” Ashe swallowed hard and forced himself to look up at them. “I want to relocate to Duscur. Y-you’ll find my offer in there… I’ll never speak of anything I learned while acting as a spymaster in Fhirdiad, punishable by death. I’ll train my replacement… well, as well as I can. I’ll leave all my notes and tell my spies to never contact me again. And more - there’s more in there.”

Dimitri nodded solemnly, looking through the letter - more carefully this time, now that he knew the significance of it.

“I… I see.”

Ashe wet his lips and tried to speak again. “Behind that, you’ll find a letter from Dedue, formally requesting my services as an aid to one of the leaders of Duscur. While I swear that I’ll never work in espionage again, not against Faerghus or anyone, it’s my intention to… um… help. With Duscur relations.”

Dimitri continued reading the letters, but it was Claude who looked at him. Claude, with his sharp eyes and his working mind - Claude was the one who Ashe was afraid of. While Dimitri likely could have been moved by a passionate speech, Claude would know the danger that this proposition posed.

Ashe, frankly, knew too much. His work made him a liability in everywhere other than Fhirdiad, and while he could promise until he was blue in the face that he’d never use his information or work against them, there was no way to guarantee his loyalty.

But - he hoped, beyond hope, that his record would speak for itself. From the slight tilt of Claude’s mouth into a sly little smile, it certainly seemed like it might.

“May I ask why?” Dimitri finally asked, his lips pursed into a frown. “If I haven’t treated you well, Ashe, I’m - “

“- no, it’s nothing like that,” Ashe said hastily, waving a hand as if to push the worry away. “It’s that I…”

There was a pause. Ashe cleared his throat and looked at the ground.

“What I mean to say is that I…”

“-he’s in love with Dedue,” Claude offered helpfully.

Both Ashe and Dimitri turned to him, startled. Claude simply shrugged, tugging Dedue’s letter from Dimitri’s fingers and waving it, as if it was evidence. “I mean, read the letter if you have any doubts. The passion in here - Dedue isn’t in a political position to _ask_ the king of Faerghus for favors unless they were dear to his heart. Besides, you saw them at our wedding, right?”

Dimitri slowly shook his head.

“I… I only had eyes for you on that day.”

Claude blushed prettily, flattered but ultimately undeterred. “Well, if you’d seen them then, then you’d know. I’m mostly just surprised this hadn’t happened sooner.”

Ashe couldn’t help but to smile at Claude’s flippant behavior, despite knowing that he had to be weighing the risks of it in the back of his mind. While he had no insight into how, exactly, Claude’s brain worked, he knew that he did his best thinking when he was distracting everyone else with a witty comment or lighthearted insight.

“It’s true,” Ashe finally confessed, looking up toward Dimitri again, “I love him. I want to be with him. I - I had hoped that you would understand, given…”

“...given our arrangement?” Dimitri asked, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Ashe nodded in return and he hummed, looking back down at the letters. “Well… when you put it like that…”

Claude tugged on his shoulder and Dimitri turned away, toward his husband. Ashe averted his eyes while the two quietly conferred, his pulse thundering in his ears. He would run if he had to. He could sneak away, and Dedue would harbor him, and Dimitri could not risk taking him back by force.

But surely, he realized as the two kings parted and looked at him once more, Claude realized that already.

“Alright.” Dimitri finally said, raising the letters in his hand, “I accept your resignation. I expect you to train a replacement and hand over all assets and intelligence about the Kingdom and her allies, and never speak -”

“- _thank you_ ,” Ashe whispered, breathless, “thank you - thank you, thank you.”

Claude laughed his easy laugh and tangled his fingers together in Dimitri’s own.

“We can talk about the details later. For now… I assume there’s a very important letter you want to send?”

Ashe nodded earnestly, taking Claude’s words as a dismissal.

There was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! While Asael and I co-wrote The Warmth Of Your Doorways, this is the longest writing project I've embarked on solo in years and... pretty much the only thing I've ever finished on my own.
> 
> I couldn't have done it without all of your wonderful support, ESPECIALLY YOURS, [ErythriteSea](https://twitter.com/ErythriteSea): amazing commenter, writer, and professional AsheDue hype woman. This fic would not have been completed if not for you and your wonderful comments which kept me going even when I was discouraged and felt like it was pointless to continue. So thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> And thank you again to everyone! I love you all, and happy (slightly belated) Ashedue week! :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to check me out on twitter, my handle is [@unraelated](https://twitter.com/unraelated). Thank you for reading!


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